


let the waters still

by sunflowerscoffee



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerscoffee/pseuds/sunflowerscoffee
Summary: the world needs more baby fic, so here we are.
Relationships: Lisa Cuddy/Greg House
Comments: 14
Kudos: 43





	1. First Trimester

1 Month

(it's never lupus) 

There's something wrong with Cuddy. House knows that, as much as he doesn't want to. He tries to look at the facts objectively, as if every fragile ounce of his happiness isn't wrapped up in her well-being. But it's not easy.

It's the fatigue he notices first. Not her usual House I've had enough of your antics and need you to act like an adult now kind of tired or even the I've been at the hospital for over 13 hours so get me a glass of wine sort of tired. Lately Cuddy is exhausted in a way that borders on narcolepsy. She falls asleep in Rachel's room in the middle of a story about a bird who only has one wing but can still get stuff done. (House reads bedtime stories now, like a real domesticated adult and he doesn't hate the way Rachel laughs at his off-book commentary or the way Cuddy usually watches them with palpable warmth). That night, Rachel suggests that the bird with one wing could use a "tiny bird cane," which House finds amusing, and which Cuddy would've no doubt enjoyed, had she not passed out while he was only on the second page.

The next day at work, Cuddy can barely keep her eyes open during her meeting with insurance reps. House stands outside the conference room, just beyond her vision, watching as she starts to doze off. His two least favorite corporate assholes stare at her, and then at each other, like they're about to report her to the non-existent principal's office. Desperate to save her from embarrassment (because it's only fun when he's the one embarrassing her), House bursts through the doors claiming he needs her for a medical emergency. Rather than her normal disapproving death glare and exasperated apology, she silently follows him out of the room. She doesn't even question when his fake emergency is not an emergency at all, and instead is a lazily argued request for a biopsy.

When Cuddy sleeps through her alarm a few days later, House is convinced he's living in an alternate universe. Not once in their entire relationship has he ever been up before her, unless he hadn't gone to sleep in the first place. He studies her breathing in and out, not sure if he should wake her or let her body get the rest it clearly needs. He decides on the latter, and manages to get Rachel up, ready, fed, and dropped off at school.

Two hours later, Cuddy is still asleep, so House finally nudges her shoulder. "Hey— it's ten thirty."

"Okay," she answers without moving.

"As proud as I am that you're picking up my bad habits, I'm a little worried you might castrate me for not waking you up sooner."

"I'm not sleeping," she says unconvincingly.

"Right. Your eyes are closed, but you're awake and getting dressed as we speak. Hot outfit today, I approve. Those skimpy silk shorts will be the talk of the doctor's lounge."

Cuddy groans but gets up and walks into the bathroom like a zombie. House follows her, somewhere between fascinated and terrified. He joins her in the shower and she clings to him like she's too tired to stand on her own.

"What's up with you?" He asks, as he struggles to maintain their balance — the only saving grace is the metal safety bar she had installed for him.

"I feel awful," she states the obvious, her head resting against his chest. "Every joint in my body aches. Half of Rachel's class was out with a nasty virus last week, including her teacher."

"So the rugrat brought it home."

"Most likely."

House feels the tension in his muscles relax, because the explanation makes sense, which means he can stop worrying about it being something worse. Even though he can't remember Cuddy ever getting sick before, she is only human. It was bound to happen eventually.

He grabs her overpriced lavender soap and a washcloth because he wants to prove that he can take care of her the same way she so often cares for him, especially on mornings when his leg is stiff and painful. He carefully washes her body even though it's hard for him to maneuver with his leg and her lethargy.

"Thank you," she says when he's finished.

"As your doctor, it is my highly valued medical opinion that you should stay home today."

Cuddy doesn't bother to put up a fight. "I guess I might as well, since it's almost 11."

"And I might as well stay home with you."

"It's not like I can let you run around the hospital without my supervision anyway."

House leans down and kisses her.

"Germs," she protests, pulling away. "The last thing you need right now is my saliva. I don't want you to get this, too."

"I was inside a pillow fort with Rachel for an hour and a half last night. I'm sure I've already been compromised. Besides, we're in the shower. This is a notoriously germ-free zone."

Cuddy looks at him endearingly. "You know my saliva is still contagious in the shower, Dr. House."

"Whatever."

And he kisses her again.

—/—

Unfortunately, House's relief only lasts a few days, because Cuddy's exhaustion persists, and her appetite dwindles next. She has ginger tea in the morning instead of her usual post-yoga smoothie, she picks at her salad at lunch, and orders take-out that she avoids eating for dinner. While House and Rachel happily scarf down their pizza, Cuddy sits at the table staring off into space.

"Not hungry?" House asks.

"I'll have something later. My stomach feels off."

"Off how?"

"I think it's acid reflux."

"Since when do you get acid reflux?"

"Maybe since today when one of my employees cost a guy six of his ten toes."

"You took off somebody's toes?" Rachel turns to House, instantly deducing that it was him.

"It's no big deal. I left the important ones."

Rachel laughs and there's tomato sauce on her cheeks, but House knows Cuddy well enough to know that she's deflecting.

After a week her face looks thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, like she's sinking into herself. At night he runs it all through his mind, and he can't sleep. Unlike Cuddy, who sleeps constantly. As she's nestled against him, he feels her skin through her shirt, warm and wet; not outright burning, but heated and clammy.

He adds low grade fever to his mental list of symptoms as he continues to panic. A million horrible possibilities consume him. He needs to talk to the person who makes him feel less panicked, but he can't when she's the one he's panicking over. All he really wants to do is wake her up and tell her that she's been his world for so long that there's no point to life if she's not with him. She makes him feel like he can do anything. Anything except lose her.

—/—

"Cuddy looks really pale," Wilson says, as they stand outside the clinic. "Is she okay?"

House sighs, not surprised by the question. He knows Cuddy best, but Wilson knows her second best, and the dark circles under her eyes are visible from several feet away.

"No, she definitely isn't okay."

"Has she been to a doctor?"

"She's dating a diagnostician."

"Then what's the diagnosis?"

"I think it's autoimmune."

It's the first time he's acknowledged the horrific thought that's been nagging him for days. The extreme fatigue, joint pain, gastrointestinal manifestations, low grade fevers. It all adds up. Yet instead of support, Wilson gives him a judgmental glare. "House. Come on."

"What? You think it's something else?"

"I think there's a good reason that doctors don't treat loved ones. You're projecting."

"You're the one who brought up how sick she looks and now you're telling me I'm projecting?"

"She probably has the flu or something, but you deal with autoimmune disease all the time. You're only seeing one because you love her."

"I can't believe you're somehow making this about me. Look at her."

"I am looking. I see an overworked woman who needs IV fluids and then a two-week vacation."

"She's been sleeping way more than usual, but she's not getting any better. I bet it's lupus. Do you know how ironic that would be? It's never lupus, until it's the woman I love."

Wilson rolls his eyes. "There's no way it's lupus."

House continues undeterred. "It could also be her thyroid. Would explain the weight loss."

"She's an endocrinologist."

"So?"

"So, I think she'd be able to figure that one out for herself."

"No, because doctors make the worst patients. I need to somehow do an ANA without her knowing."

"Please do not medically assault your girlfriend."

"But…"

"You know what the real problem is?" Wilson interrupts.

"No, but I'm sure you're about to tell me."

"Cuddy doesn't take care of herself. She takes care of Rachel and you and the whole hospital. She puts herself last and she's been doing it for years. I'm surprised it hasn't caught up to her before now."

"Maybe."

House would love to believe it, because it would be an easy fix, but life isn't usually that simple for them.

"She has to learn how to prioritize herself or she's going to burn out," Wilson continues. "You need to step up and help her. How many times has Cuddy stepped up for you? Kicked your ass when you needed it? It's your turn."

"To kick her ass?"

"In a loving way."

They both stop talking because Cuddy walks through the doors and into the lobby. She approaches them, unsteady on her feet. "House," she calls out to him.

She sounds distressed and appears shaken in a way that makes him cringe with how out of character it is for her. Cuddy is the constant, the stability — she's what holds everything together, even though she rarely gets credit for it. It physically pains him to see her like this. In fact, the worse Cuddy gets, the more his leg aches.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I'm dizzy."

He leans his cane against the desk, grabs onto her shoulders, and tries to steady her. "Have you eaten anything today?"

Her knees buckle beneath her before she can answer. He watches the remaining color drain from her face as she collapses against him. He manages to stop her from hitting the ground, scoops her into his arms, and starts limping towards the clinic.

"Do you need help?" Wilson asks as he follows close behind. "Your leg?"

"My leg is fine."

It isn't fine, it throbs with every step, but he's sure as hell not going to let Wilson be the one to carry his unconscious girlfriend. House pushes through concerned nurses, finds an empty clinic room, and gently sets Cuddy down on an exam table. He checks her pulse with his fingers, relieved to find a steady rhythm, and then elevates her feet.

Wilson opens the door, armed with an ice pack and a juice box. House wordlessly takes the ice and places it against Cuddy's cheek. Her eyes flutter open a few seconds later and she slowly processes her surroundings. "I... fainted."

"You did," House confirms. "Nice and dramatically in the lobby."

"I must've gotten dehydrated."

"Here," Wilson hands over the juice. "Drink this."

"Thanks."

Cuddy sits up and slowly sips the apple juice. House pushes her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You're okay," he tells her.

But he knows it's a lie.

He wonders if she knows it too.

—/—

Cuddy lets House drive her home, not that he gave her much of a choice —she barely had a chance to tell her assistant she was leaving before House dragged her out the door. She's grateful he did though. It feels so good to be in bed, resting her body, which feels weaker than she can ever remember.

"Thank you for the ride," she says, as House stares at her from the bedroom doorway, his arms crossed about his chest.

"It's funny how you say that like I'm going back to work."

"There's no reason for you to be here if I'm just going to sleep."

"You shouldn't be alone if you're dizzy."

"I'm not dizzy now. I'm tired and I have a headache."

"You're probably still dehydrated. I should've admitted your stubborn ass."

She can tell that he's frustrated with her, and that he's looking for some kind of reassurance. "I promise I'll hydrate here."

"Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you collapse?"

Of course, Cuddy is all too familiar with the feeling. "Considering you've passed out in front of me at least three times, and that I had to give you mouth to mouth when your heart stopped? I'd say I have a pretty good idea."

"And you think that's something to aspire to? A role reversal with me on Vicodin?"

She's a bit taken back by the seriousness of his line of questioning. "Maybe I haven't been doing the best job taking care of myself lately."

"You think?" House says sarcastically.

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose. I can't get the flu in the middle of budget deadlines and contract negotiations. That one day I took off set me back a week, if not more."

"I know I can't stop you from thinking like a workaholic, but I will handcuff you to this bed for non-sexy reasons if I have to."

Cuddy laughs a little, because she knows he means it, and can picture him doing it so clearly. "I believe it."

"If you won't take care of yourself for my sake, think of Cuddy junior."

The reference to Rachel is well-intentioned, but it also reminds her of one more thing she's supposed to be doing instead of letting herself relax. "She..."

"Has soccer practice after school, which means she finishes too late for Marina to pick her up," House knowingly completes. "Give me a little credit. I do read your ridiculously detailed mom-calendar after I'm done making fun of it. I can get Rachel when it's time. Right now, we're taking a nap."

It's not that Cuddy doesn't want him to stay, but he has important obligations of his own. "I'm afraid Jeremy will die while you're here babysitting me, and I don't want to be responsible for that."

"Who?"

"Your patient."

"I don't care about my patient," he says, taking off his shoes and joining her in bed. "I care about you."

It's not the first time he's made clear that she comes first, but it still overwhelms her to hear it. Cuddy never imagined that anything could be more important to House than puzzles and power, let alone her. Most days she feels unworthy of being his first priority, especially when literal lives are on the line.

"He won't die," House adds, as if sensing her hesitation. "At least not right now. We started broad spectrum antibiotics. My team will call if they need me."

Cuddy knows that the argument is lost and accepts her place in House's arms. Within a few minutes, she drifts off to sleep.

A few hours later, she's woken up by an aggressive wave of nausea. She gets out of bed, runs to the bathroom, and vomits into the toilet for what feels like forever. When she's finally done and looks into the mirror, she can see in her own reflection that something is very wrong. Maybe it's the flu, or maybe it's her lack of self-care, but part of her starts to worry that maybe it's something worse.

She walks back into the bedroom and immediately notices two things. First, that House is gone — but one glance at the clock confirms he must've left to pick up Rachel. The second thing she notices is that the baby monitor, which is sitting on her dresser, is turned on and flashing three green lights. It doesn't make any sense, because it wasn't there earlier, and Rachel isn't even home. She picks it up and wanders into the living room, not sure exactly what she's looking for. She finds it when she glances out the window and sees Wilson's car sitting outside her house like a security detail. She should've known better than to think House would leave without assurance that she was somehow being looked after.

"Seriously, Wilson?" Cuddy speaks directly into the monitor, certain he has its pair. "Get in here."

She watches him exit the car and hesitantly walk up the pathway. She swings her front door open before he even reaches it. "House made me do it," he says defensively in greeting.

"Like I don't already know that."

"His patient had an allergic reaction, and his team couldn't figure out what to do next. He went to the hospital before picking up Rachel, but he wanted to make sure you were okay."

"And you thought...what? That you'd hear me faint over the baby monitor and come running into the house?

Wilson shrugs. "That was the plan."

"For two smart people, I swear you're both so stupid. Why didn't you wait inside? You know where the key is."

"He said you wanted space. Well, actually, he said 'I'll kill you if you bother mom while she's taking a nap,' but I speak House, so I understood the subtext."

Cuddy has no idea why it all comes into focus, so clearly and abruptly, but perhaps it's a combination of things: the use of the word mom, the baby monitor in one hand while the other rests on her aching stomach, the acid she can still taste in the back of her throat.

This must be how House feels when he suddenly has the answer to a question he didn't even know he was asking.

"Oh my god," she says out loud, gripping onto the door frame for support.

"What's wrong?" Wilson steps closer to her, voice dripping with concern.

"Oh my god," she repeats. "I'm…"

"Dizzy again?"

"Yes."

It's not what she was going to say, but it's also not a lie. The world around her is spinning so fast that she's afraid she might collapse for the second time in one day. And it's not because she's dehydrated or sleep deprived or because she has the flu or something worse. It's because the weight of her realization is physically too much to bear.

—/—

By the weekend House comes up with a plan. He accepts that it would be too hard to get Cuddy's blood without her noticing. She can be a relatively deep sleeper at times, but a needle piercing her skin would most likely wake her up. So House decides to start with urinalysis. That way he can look at her protein levels and red blood cells to make sure nothing is amiss with her kidneys, which he can't stop thinking about, because of the potential of lupus.

It's not like it's even that hard, it's not like he doesn't know Cuddy's routine well enough to pull it off. She always has to pee exactly twenty-five minutes after they eat dinner. All he has to do is bribe Rachel into helping him out, which is also an easy task when armed with the right candy. He offers an extra-large bag of M&Ms in exchange for her participation in what he calls a top secret, but vitally important, mission.

When Cuddy goes to the bathroom at the precise time House expected her to, he hovers right outside the door. "Now kid," he says into the baby monitor (and who knew the monitors would be such a useful tool in all his latest schemes?). A second later, right on schedule, Rachel screams bloody murder, and House hides in the bedroom closet. A concerned Cuddy predictably goes running towards her daughter's room without flushing the toilet, giving House the perfect opportunity.

He quietly sneaks back into the bathroom, armed with a sterile cup he stole from the clinic. He manages to get what he needs and is fastening the top back on when he hears a voice from right behind him.

"What are you doing?"

House spins around and comes face to face with a very confused Cuddy. Damn Rachel for not being able to keep up the act long enough. He should have specified how long she needed to fake cry for. He chastises himself for such a rookie mistake.

"Nothing."

"Are you... is that…. mine?"

"Of course not," he says innocently, like there's nothing strange about what she walked in on. "It's my patient's."

Cuddy pushes past him so she can flush the toilet and wash her hands. "You're such a liar," she accuses. "Why would you bring that here?"

"Because Taub and Foreman are having another lovers' quarrel and I can't focus at work."

"House," Cuddy warns impatiently. "Rachel just screamed her head off but was absolutely fine when I got to her. Do you know something about that?"

"Of course not. Had my headphones in. Didn't even hear her."

"Oh, yeah? Where are your headphones then? And where did Rachel get M&Ms?"

"Uh…"

Cuddy sighs in defeat. "Well obviously you already know."

He could pretend otherwise, but he's too mentally exhausted to keep up the charade. "Of course, I know," he concedes. "You really thought I wouldn't figure it out? Do you know how insulting that is?"

"I thought there would've been more observable freaking out if you knew."

"I've been freaking out all the hours you've been asleep. Which has been a lot of hours. Which is part of how I knew. You should've come to me the second you suspected."

"I wanted to be sure before I told you," Cuddy defends. "You could've said something to me instead of doing...this."

"I wanted to be sure before I brought it up to you," he rebuts. "When did you find out?"

"I first suspected the day I fainted, but I did the test yesterday."

House feels his heart sink into his stomach at the confirmation of his worst fears. He has no idea when she would've had time to get the ANA done — he's been tracking her every move by hacking into her daily schedule, but Cuddy can be sneaky when she needs to be. Before he can respond, before he can muster up the courage to ask her how bad it is, Cuddy holds up a hand to stop him. "Please don't say anything yet. I have something for you."

When she walks out of the bathroom, House assumes she's going to get the results of her blood test. He hopes that maybe there's a small chance it will say something better than what he's been imagining. Instead, Cuddy comes back with a gift bag.

"What the hell is that?"

"Can you put the cup down first?" She scrunches her nose in disgust. "I can't take this conversation seriously while you're holding that."

He puts it down, but keeps his eyes focused on her. "Why do you have a gift bag?"

"You know my friend Morgan from yoga?"

"No."

"She has her own Etsy shop."

"What?"

"She did me a huge favor by getting this done so quickly."

House feels himself growing agitated, fueled by nerves and anticipation. "I don't understand."

"Why don't you open it? Then maybe you'll understand."

Cuddy is smiling. It's a nervous smile, but she's smiling nonetheless. It doesn't make any sense because people don't smile about being diagnosed with incurable, chronic diseases.

House takes a deep breath, reaches into the bag, and pulls out a tiny leather jacket. One that looks exactly like his own, right down to an identical Rtai Sports patch and red and white stripes on the sleeves. It's so small it could fit one of Rachel's dolls.

"I went back and forth about whether or not to do this," Cuddy says. "I wanted to tell you in a happy way, but I don't...I don't know if you're anything close to happy about it. If I'm being honest, I don't even know if I'm happy about it. When Morgan was done making this, my first thought was that it's going to make it so much more depressing when I lose the baby."

House stares at her, dumbfounded, his mind short-circuiting. For as fast as his brain usually works, he's unable to process what's happening.

"I guess I figured maybe we could still have this part, where I get to tell you. Unless you're about to lose it on me. Which is… it's okay, House. You can if you need to. I can't believe this happened either. And it probably won't happen, in the end. We both know my...history. I still wanted us to have this one, normal moment. Well, as normal as possible after you find your boyfriend fishing through your toilet. I guess it wouldn't be us if it was completely normal."

Cuddy is saying a whole lot of words, but House has only managed to hear a single one of them. "Baby?"

"House?" She questions, confused by his confusion.

He finally gets it, and the enormity of it washes over him. "You're pregnant."

She nods in confirmation. "You knew that already."

It's as close to an out of body experience as House has ever had, which is amazing, considering there are zero drugs in his system. "No, I didn't."

"But...you were..." Cuddy gestures to the toilet. "You were doing a pregnancy test."

"I wasn't. I thought you were sick. I thought you had lupus. I wanted to check your kidneys."

"Lupus?! What are you talking about?"

"Fatigue, low grade fevers, joint pain, gastrointestinal issues, fainting," he rattles off her symptoms, more to himself than to her, trying to figure out how he could've gotten it so wrong. "That's textbook autoimmune."

"But...it's never lupus."

"Yeah, which is why I figured you were going to have it. Do you not see the irony of the love of my life getting lupus? It was too perfect. I was getting ready to call Alanis Morissette and everything."

"You're serious."

"Seriously a moron," House exhales, simultaneously feeling stupid and scared out of his mind. "I can't believe Wilson was right."

"Wilson knows I'm pregnant?"

"No, but he said I was projecting. He said I couldn't think straight because it was you. And he was right. Because of course you're pregnant. I knew you were vomiting, sometimes in the mornings. Plus, I know your whole cycle. I've had it memorized for years. How did I not see something so obvious?"

"I'm more concerned with how you feel about..."

"Relieved that you're not sick," House cuts her off. "And annoyed that I'm incapable of thinking rationally about you. I really, really hate you sometimes."

"Thanks," Cuddy smirks, a brief moment of levity. "That's exactly what a pregnant woman wants to hear from her boyfriend."

"I hate the way you break my brain," he clarifies. "I was convinced you were going to have a very different, very difficult life. All I could think about was something happening to you."

"I'm okay."

"But I was so... sure. I need a minute to readjust."

"I'm still adjusting myself."

House sits down on the edge of the bathtub, grabs at his pulsating thigh. "You don't know if you're happy about this?" he catches up to her earlier statement. "You think you're going to miscarry."

"Yes."

"You're not happy because you're scared."

"I'm trying to feel happiness. But right now I mostly feel dread. An impending sense of doom. Like I just have to wait around, completely powerless, until the worst happens. I'm trying to push through it, but it's hard."

House nods, because he knows what it's like to feel powerless against your own body. He knows what it's like to be betrayed by it.

"I don't want you to not want our baby," Cuddy says softly. "But it's like... maybe a part of me doesn't want you to want the baby too much because I don't want to hurt you when I lose it."

"You're worried about hurting me?" House asks incredulously. Sometimes Cuddy is selfless to the point of insanity.

"I don't even have the words for how hard losing a baby is. You might pretend to be detached, especially if we lose it early on. But I know it would hurt you in the end. I never want to be the one hurting you."

"That doesn't even make sense. It wouldn't be you hurting me."

"I'll still feel like it's my fault. And this is all going to be so much worse because… well, because we..."

House gets that she's trying to say a miscarriage would be even harder because it's his baby this time around, but he doesn't know how he could possibly begin to respond to that, so he changes the subject to something he can handle. "Did you go to the doctor yet?"

"No. I did the home test. I'd like you to come with me to the first appointment."

"I will. But I'm also thinking, you've lost a lot of weight. You've been violently ill to the point I was convinced you were dying. This kind of extreme morning sickness usually means the placenta is making more hormones. You might be miserable, but you're less likely to have a miscarriage. Your body didn't react this way last time, right? I mean, I'd remember…"

"It wasn't like this last time at all."

"So maybe that means it will end differently."

"Do you want it to end differently?"

The question takes his breath away. "Are you asking me if I want you to have a miscarriage?"

"No," she says, quickly assuaging his guilt. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm asking if you're okay with us possibly having a baby? On the off chance that I somehow get through this pregnancy."

House picks up the leather jacket that's barely bigger than his own hand, runs his fingers over the material. He was preparing himself for a world without Cuddy, or a world with less of her, and instead he might get a world with more Cuddy. A whole new person with Cuddy's traits.

"I'm not detached," he says. "I'm not going to pretend to be. I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, besides bad that my spawn is already making your life hell, but it's not… detachment. I'll never be detached from anything related to you. I'll never not want a part of you. That's...the best I can do right now."

Cuddy bites her bottom lip, tears filling her eyes. She sits down next to him, and wraps both arms around him. He ignores the ten thousand fears bubbling to the surface and focuses on four words over and over as he breathes in and out. More Cuddy, not less. More Cuddy, not less. More Cuddy, not less.

"Hey," she says, after a few seconds of comfortable silence. "You called me the love of your life a minute ago."

"Because you are, idiot."

"Idiot? I'm not the world-famous diagnostician who thought a baby was lupus."

"We're never going to speak of that again."

"Are you kidding? I'm never going to let you live it down."

He figures that's fair, considering the absurdity of it. "I can't believe you told some yoga bitch who I've never even heard of that you're pregnant before you told me."

"You've met her multiple times, House. And I needed help with the present."

"Can I ask you a serious question?"

"About Morgan?"

"About us."

"Of course," Cuddy answers, bracing herself for whatever he's going to say. "Anything."

"Is there some specific reason we need to have every life-changing conversation in a bathroom?"

Cuddy laughs, loud and heartening. The best sound in the world. He kisses the top of her head. None of it feels real yet, but she grounds him in the moment.

More Cuddy, not less.

2 months

(they don't take pregnant women at mayfield)

One of the best parts about being a doctor is fully understanding everything that's going on in your own body — it's always made Cuddy feel in control. But one of the worst parts about being a doctor is knowing everything that could go wrong and remembering all the horrible outcomes you've witnessed in vivid detail. Every morning, Cuddy wakes up with an already racing heart, anxiety pulsating through her. She tries to drown out her thoughts by putting in her headphones and turning on her meditation app as she brews her herbal tea. The app tells her to be grateful, which she is. She hasn't fainted again since House started obsessively monitoring her — he's been treating her with anti-nausea meds and IV fluids filled with vitamins and electrolytes. Her OBGYN said that despite her extreme morning sickness, there's nothing to be concerned about so far. Her hCG levels are well within range and House uses an at home baby doppler to hear the heartbeat at least twice a day. Cuddy still feels exhausted, she still throws up multiple times a day, but it's getting more manageable. What's not manageable is that she spends almost every waking moment imagining worst case scenarios. She can't believe that House is somehow handling everything so much better than she is.

It's Sunday morning, and they're planning on going to the park because House thinks fresh air will be good for her (and it's always good for Rachel). It sounded like a great idea when she agreed to it, but suddenly the prospect of going out feels impossible. The only place she feels safe is at home, and preferably in House's embrace. So Cuddy takes out her headphones, walks into the bedroom with her mug of tea, and tries to act casual.

"What if we forget the park and hang out here today?" She asks, like the outcome doesn't matter to her.

But House is House, which means he sees right through her. "Avoiding the outside world isn't going to make you less likely to lose the baby."

"I know that. Can't I just want to stay home with my boyfriend?"

"Sure, but that's not what this is. I mean, I'm not going to argue about being lazy and watching TV all day. But I don't buy your reasoning."

"I don't care if you buy it."

She feels guilty for the annoyed tone of her voice. It's not House's fault that she's about to burst into tears. Instead of being irritated at her, he pats the spot next to him in bed. She gets in and puts her mug down on the dresser.

House leans forward and speaks directly to her stomach. "Your mom seriously needs to chillax."

It should make her happy, but it pushes her closer to the edge instead. She flashes back to the last time he talked to her stomach like this, the two of them in the parking garage. She was denying she was pregnant then, but he knew better than to believe her. "Please don't," she begs. "It's so sweet, House. But I… I can't."

"Are you okay?"

She almost tells him. He, of all people, would understand how she feels; how she can't get it to stop, how it's getting worse instead of better. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but then Rachel barrels into the room, still in her pajamas. "Are we gonna go to the park?" she asks, remembering the outing she was promised.

"Nah," House informs her. "We're going to have a pajama party instead."

"In the daytime?"

"Yup. I suggest you get your butt over here before someone decides we're not allowed to watch the monster trucks for kids show that I found on YouTube."

Rachel's eyes light up, like they always do when House is showering her with attention. "Trucks!" she exclaims, the park quickly forgotten.

Cuddy swallows her fear as Rachel climbs into bed and House pulls out his laptop. As he plays the video, she tries to focus on one stupid cartoon truck crushing another cartoon truck, on the way Rachel laughs at the ridiculous narration, and on how beautiful it is that House genuinely enjoys her enjoyment.

But what she's really focused on is how much longer it'll be until she's crying on the bathroom floor, cramps rippling through her, and blood trickling down her legs.

—/—

On Monday House is scribbling seemingly disconnected symptoms on the white board when, out of his peripheral vision, he notices Wilson step into the office. "Go away," he says, trying not to lose his train of thought. "I'm about to have an epiphany."

"House. Cuddy needs you."

He can tell by the worried look on his best friend's face that it's not work related. Wilson is the only other person who knows about the pregnancy; Cuddy was reluctant to share it, but Wilson kept asking about her health, and could sense the two of them keeping something from him. Eventually Cuddy caved and told him, but warned that she didn't want to talk about it (or even hear House and Wilson talk about it) until they hit at least the three-month mark. Until now, Wilson has kept his promise.

House turns and walks out of the office so fast that his team barely has time to register it. He quickly limps down the hallway, Wilson at his side. "What happened?"

"I don't know. She's in her office and won't let anyone near her."

The two of them step onto the elevator. "I don't think it's what you're thinking," Wilson says once the doors close and they're alone. "I didn't see... blood."

That doesn't necessarily mean it wasn't there. "What did you see?"

"We were in a meeting and she lost her train of thought and started shaking. She got up and practically ran out of the room, knocked her chair over on the way out. I followed her because I was worried she might faint again, but she yelled at me to go get you."

House says nothing in response. It feels like the world is moving in slow motion. When the elevator stops on the second floor to let in more people, House wants to push them all out of his way and speed up time. All he can think about is getting to Cuddy.

Finally, they arrive in the lobby, and House instructs Wilson to stay put while he heads to Cuddy's office. When he gets inside, he sees her sitting on her couch with her knees pulled close to her chest.

"House," she chokes out. "Something's wrong."

He assumes the worst when he sees the tears streaming down her face, her small body trembling. "Do you have bleeding? Cramps? Pain?"

"No. I'm…I feel like I can't... breathe."

House looks at her again, really looks at her, and sees exactly what's going on. "Cuddy, you're having an anxiety attack."

"No."

"Yes." He says matter of factly. He realizes she isn't in the danger he was so afraid of, but also knows he still has to do something to help. He sits down next to her, puts his hand on her knee. "Everything's... fine," he offers, somewhat awkwardly.

"You don't know that," she whines with shallow breath. "You might be the best doctor in the world, but you can't stop a miscarriage."

"Might be the best doctor in the world?!" He jokes, before getting serious. "I'm not saying I can stop a miscarriage. I'm not lying to you or being optimistic. I wouldn't do that—I'm not even capable of it."

"Then how can you say everything's fine?"

"Because right now you're not having a miscarriage. And because we'll get through whatever happens. I'm looking at our track record of surviving shitty things together and thinking you have no grounds to argue with me."

House has never truly had to be there for someone, aside from Wilson during his stupid divorces. But that didn't require the emotional depth he needs to muster now. It comes to him easier than he would've suspected, if only because he knows Cuddy better than he knows himself. It also helps that he's all too familiar with spiraling out of control.

Cuddy nods and exhales deeply, which he hopes means she believes him. "I was in a meeting, but I couldn't focus on what anyone was saying. Then the room started spinning and it felt like I was choking. I had to get out."

"Can I show you something?" House pulls a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. He may not be the best at outright comfort, but he can show her the science, and help her make sense of what's happening. "It's the blood work I did on you the other day. Your cortisol levels are insane. They're triple normal. That's how I knew you were having anxiety."

"Oh," Cuddy looks at the numbers herself. "I guess this explains why I've been waking up with my heart jumping out of my chest."

"You have?"

"Yeah. I usually calm down once I'm distracted at work, but today I couldn't."

"And I know you've been having nightmares."

"They're always about miscarriages."

"And you can barely leave the house aside from work."

"I know."

"This stress has you in fight or flight mode. Now would be a great time to use all that yoga breathing."

"I'm trying, but nothing is working. I feel like a ticking time bomb. It's so consuming. I can't think about anything else. And now… now I'm having anxiety that my anxiety about this baby is going to be what kills it. Cortisol levels that high…"

"We'll get you on a cortisol manager."

"Okay," she says, sounding unsure, which means he still has to convince her.

"You don't have to obsess about your health, or this baby's health, because I'm going to obsess about both," he promises. "I don't know how much that helps the anxiety, but you know when I obsess about something, I don't stop."

"It helps. I'm sorry that I'm such a disaster."

Cuddy looks embarrassed, which is insane, considering what she's gotten him through. "You're saying that to me? I think you're taking this whole role reversal a little too far. Thankfully, I don't think they take pregnant women at Mayfield."

Cuddy tries and fails to stifle a laugh at the joke. "Shut up. That's not even funny."

"And yet you're laughing," he points out.

"Yeah. I'm clearly just as screwed up as you are."

"Good point," he says, an idea striking him. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course. When I ran out of that meeting all I could think about was getting to you."

That's what they've been doing for their whole lives— just trying to get to each other. To where they are now— to being together, even when they're both still scared.

And while he doesn't particularly like the solution he's come up with, Cuddy getting through this and feeling better matters more than anything else, his pride included.

"I think maybe there's someone you should meet."

—/—

Cuddy sits on the couch in the waiting room, bouncing her leg up and down, no idea what to expect. She's never been to therapy before, which probably isn't great, considering who her mother is. She's not intimidated by the idea of talking to a stranger. But she's a little nervous about meeting House's former therapist, who apparently already knows a lot about her.

"House?" Nolan walks out of his office, obviously not expecting to see them. The surprise on his face makes Cuddy slightly concerned about what House did to get her an appointment.

"Did you miss me?" House grins mischievously.

"You made an appointment under a fake name."

"I thought you'd appreciate the element of surprise."

"You know I don't appreciate games."

Nolan turns and starts to walk away. He has a commanding presence, though Cuddy wouldn't expect anything less from the man who kept House in therapy for a whole year.

"Wait," House stands and calls after him. "This isn't a game, and the appointment isn't even for me."

Cuddy takes that as her cue to stand as well. "Hi."

"This is Dr. Cuddy," House introduces her. "I'm sure you remember the name — since she was the starring subject of so many of our sessions. We've been together since….not that long after I stormed out of here pretending I wasn't in love with her. Feel free to gloat about that."

"The appointment is for you?" Nolan looks directly at her.

"Yes. If that's okay."

"And we're going to waive all that doctor-patient confidentiality nonsense," House says. "My insanity is her insanity, so to speak. You can use what you already know from shrinking me to shrink her."

House is making jokes because he doesn't want to admit that he actually respects Nolan, so Cuddy takes that task upon herself. "House thinks you can help me."

"That's odd, considering House didn't think I could help him."

"But you did help him. He's sober and stable."

"And happy," House adds.

"And happy," Cuddy repeats.

That, more than anything, appears impossible for Nolan to resist. "Alright, Dr. Cuddy," he gestures towards his door. "Why don't you come inside?"

—/—

"So," Nolan begins once they're alone, "if I remember correctly, the last I heard, House was running around with a book written by your…great-grandfather?"

"Wow. Good memory."

It feels like a lifetime ago— the days before she truly had House; sometimes it hurts to remember that there was ever a time they were so bad at communication.

"Was it the book that did it?"

"No," Cuddy sits down on the couch and tries to get comfortable. "There was a crane that collapsed in Trenton. House and I worked the scene. It was horrible. We were treating this woman, Hannah, and House had to amputate her leg. We witnessed this beautiful moment between her and her husband and then she... didn't make it. I showed up at his apartment that same night and told him I loved him, and we've been together since."

"That's a rather dramatic story."

"House and I have always had our fair share of drama."

"Are you two doing okay now?"

"We're great. I'm not here because of something he did."

"Why are you here?"

"I had a panic attack at work," she admits for the first time. "It came out of nowhere. I'm the Dean of Medicine. I've been in a thousand high pressure situations before and never once…."

"Out of nowhere?" Nolan skeptically interrupts.

"Well, I'm pregnant."

"Congratulations," he says, a hint of a smile on his face (she briefly wonders if he's counting them as a success story). "Is there something about the pregnancy that's making you anxious?"

"I was pregnant once before and had a miscarriage."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"But I guess it's more than that," she confesses. "I had a long journey to motherhood the first time. I did a few rounds of IVF that failed and then when it finally took, I had the miscarriage. There was also a baby I was supposed to adopt, but it fell through."

"How far along in the process of adoption?"

"Far. The mom changed her mind after giving birth. I had already named the baby. But I don't…I'm not saying I regret any of it. I could never regret it, because it all led to me adopting my daughter, Rachel."

"What was that adoption process like?"

"With Rachel? It was unexpected to say the least. House and I were treating a teenage girl who we thought had cancer. It turned out to be preeclampsia and there was nothing we could do for her. She admitted to giving birth and leaving the baby in an empty building near a soup kitchen."

"And that baby was Rachel?"

"It was. I found her and brought her to the hospital and was able to adopt her from there."

Nolan jots something down on his notepad before continuing. "I want to talk a bit more about loss," he says when he looks back up at her. "Besides the miscarriage and the first adoption, have you experienced any other major losses?"

"Yes." Cuddy sees her father's face in her mind. She's been missing him even more than usual lately, has spent a lot of time wishing he could've met House. "My dad died. It was a while ago, but we didn't see it coming."

"How did it happen?"

"Stroke. He was in front of me one minute and gone the next."

"You were there?"

"My mom and sister were out, but I was home. I was the one who called the ambulance."

"And what about House?"

The abrupt subject change confuses her, because House isn't dead, he's only on the other side of the door. "What about him?"

"It's been a while, so forgive me if I'm mistaken, but I believe there have been many times you thought you may have lost him?"

Cuddy scoffs out loud. "That's the understatement of the century. It would take more than one appointment for us to talk about every time I thought I was about to lose House."

For years she was afraid he would slip away from her— both emotionally and physically. She can't pretend that watching him deteriorate didn't impact her.

"Do any of them stick out?"

"The time he electroshocked his brain to try and save Wilson's girlfriend and I sat at his bedside not knowing if he was ever going to wake up again," Cuddy recalls. "He was also taken hostage once with a bunch of clinic patients. This crazy guy showed up at the hospital demanding a diagnosis and barged into my office with a gun. House was only in there because he was playing some ridiculous prank on me."

"That sounds like House."

"The guy who took them hostage wanted me to personally deliver all of his medicine. The leader of the SWAT team thought I was completely out of my mind for agreeing to do it. He kept accusing me of being in love with House, which was true, but I was still denying it."

"You went in because you wanted to see him, to make sure he was alright."

"Yes," Cuddy agrees. "I still remember how sick I felt every time I had to leave him in there, no idea how it would end."

"I can imagine."

"Not long after we started dating, we thought House got smallpox from one of his patients. He was trapped in an isolation room and I was pushed up against the glass that was separating us, and I thought that…. I really thought he might die that time. Somehow I'm always the one standing on the other side of a door completely helpless."

"Dr. Cuddy, in less than ten minutes you've rattled off a laundry list of traumatic events in a startlingly casual manner. Any one of the experiences you mentioned would be enough to give a person anxiety."

"But," Cuddy protests. "They didn't happen to me."

"How do you mean?"

"House is the one who's been shot and taken hostage and has a hole in his thigh. Rachel is the one who was abandoned. I had a miscarriage, but I've treated women who've had five and seem to be able to…. move on with their lives."

"You feel unworthy of your anxiety, which I find quite telling about you as a person. But you're a doctor, so I know you know that PTSD also happens to people who witness their loved ones in danger."

"That applies to people who have…" she trails off, realizing halfway through her sentence that the criteria could very well apply to her.

She's been getting through things for so long, dealing with each crisis as it comes, that she never stopped to consider the toll it's taken on her.

"You saw your father die. You've witnessed the man you love in danger so many times that you could barely narrow them down."

"You think I have PTSD?"

"A form of it, yes. I think maybe you haven't let yourself fully feel it until now, but this pregnancy has brought it to the surface. Even the good things in your life have been surrounded by trauma. Someone died before you finally got together with House. Someone died before you got Rachel, too. You've always had tragedies before something good, so why would you expect something good without tragedy?"

"Oh." Cuddy starts to cry, feeling exposed in a way that makes her uncomfortable. She finds it bizarre that someone she's known for less than a half hour can see her so clearly.

Nolan hands her a box of tissues. "Do you mind if we bring House in here for a minute? I think it might be helpful."

Cuddy dries her eyes and nods in agreement, even if a part of her doesn't want House to see her like this. Nolan stands to go get him.

"Geez," House says when he enters the office a few seconds later and takes in the sight of her. "You already made her cry?"

"In fairness to Dr. Nolan, I think my raging hormones gave him a bit of a head start."

House sits down next to her on the couch, their shoulders touching. Nolan ignores their banter and gets right back to business. "House — what would you say if I told you I suspect Cuddy is dealing with PTSD?"

"That makes sense," House answers without hesitation. "Cuddy has seen some shit, as the kids say."

"I'm glad you agree, because her first reaction was to tell me she hasn't been through anything traumatic enough to warrant that."

"Of course it was."

"That doesn't surprise you?"

"Nope. She's a caretaker, which is great and everything, especially since I'm one of the people she takes care of. But it also means she holds her own stuff in way too much. She's got to...stop doing that for at least the next seven months. Especially since half the fucked-up situations she's been in were my fault."

"That's ridiculous, House. You didn't cause my miscarriage or make my dad have a stroke, did you?"

"No. That's why I said half."

"And the stuff you were involved in wasn't your fault. You didn't bring a gun to my office or make a crane collapse in Trenton. Even with the Vicodin, it's not like you got addicted on purpose. It stemmed from a physical issue."

"Either way, caring about me has brought a lot of drama into your life."

"Caring about you is not a burden on me," Cuddy corrects, not liking the implication. "And being pregnant doesn't mean I can magically stop."

"I don't think he's asking you to stop caring about him," Nolan jumps in to clarify. "I think he's acknowledging what you've been through together and offering to carry a little more emotional weight than he usually does, which seems like a reasonable offer."

"She probably thinks it'll be too much for me to handle and I'll freak out and relapse."

"That's not true," Cuddy insists. "In fact, you don't seem freaked out in the least bit about the possibility of us having a baby."

"Because right now you're the puzzle, Cuddy. My emotionally stunted brain can only deal with one thing at a time. I can't even process the fact that we might have a baby, because I'm too busy calculating how many calories you've been able to keep down so I can make sure you're not about to collapse."

"I'm the puzzle," Cuddy chastises herself for not seeing it sooner. It makes perfect sense. He's looking at it like an equation. Cuddy + x = no miscarriage. He can't focus on the baby when he's trying to solve for x. Because if there's anything House can handle even less than his own pain, it's hers. "Of course."

"Why do you two keep saying you might have a baby?" Nolan asks.

"She doesn't want to say we definitely are, because she's convinced she's going to have a miscarriage."

"Is that true?"

Cuddy is aware of how stupid it sounds out loud. "I guess I don't want to jinx anything by talking about the future."

"I understand the temptation to avoid it," Nolan empathizes. "But I want you to try and talk about this baby once a week in a way that completely assumes he or she is going to be okay. I want you to actively choose to be brave in confronting that possibility."

"What do you mean?" Cuddy questions.

"Maybe you two have a conservation about…. decorating the nursery. Where you assume there is going to be a nursery to decorate and push back against the thoughts telling you otherwise. Do you think you can do that?"

"I can try. But how am I supposed to fix the rest of it?"

"You're doing it right now. You're here. We'll talk once a week. We'll work on reframing your thought process."

"Cuddy loves challenges," House says, as if he's showing her off. "She also loves to-do lists. She'll kick therapy's ass and be a much better patient than I was."

"I do love a challenge."

She knows it's not going to be easy. But House, as usual, is right: giving her something tangible to do about the situation already makes her feel like she's taken some power back. And knowing they're in it together makes her feel like the future she's been so afraid to picture might be within reach.

—/—

That night House wakes up and realizes Cuddy isn't in bed next to him. His first thought is to check the bathroom, assuming she might be sick again. When she isn't there, he wanders down the hall and finds her in the kitchen standing in front of the open fridge. "What're you doing?" He asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "It's one thirty in the morning."

"Looking for food. I'm suddenly starving."

Maybe it's the weight off her shoulders that has allowed her appetite to briefly reappear, but House isn't going to question it. "I can make you something."

"There's nothing to make. We need to grocery shop."

House takes a few steps closer to her so that he can investigate the fridge himself. "What are you talking about? There's bread and cheese, which means I can make you my world-famous grilled cheese."

He expects her to be disgusted by the greasy, carb-filled suggestion, but her face lights up instead. "That sounds amazing."

"Pregnancy-craving-Cuddy is going to be fun," he muses.

Cuddy takes a seat at the table and gazes at him lovingly. "You're pretty sexy when you're doting on me."

House would do anything to keep her looking at him like that, and he can't believe it's as simple as making her a sandwich in the middle of the night. When he's done cooking, he puts the plate down on the table, sits down across from her, and watches her take her first bite.

"Good?"

"S'good," she says with her mouth full. "I'm probably going to puke it up in like an hour, but I don't even care right now."

"You're sexy when you're eating junk food after midnight."

"Thank you for this, House," she says with the utmost sincerity. "And for bringing me to Nolan."

"Anything for my baby mama."

"Do you think we could try what he said? The thing where we talk like we're definitely having the baby?"

"Sure," House agrees, though he's unclear on exactly what conversation she wants to have.

Cuddy takes a deep breath and then asks. "Would you prefer a boy or a girl?"

"A girl," House says right away.

"Really?"

"You're surprised."

"Completely."

"You think I want a boy just because I am one? That's very sexist of you. Besides, I've got a good thing going with the Cuddy girls — feels like I should keep the streak going with another one."

"But three of us? Under one roof? I don't know if you've thought this through."

The truth is that when House thinks about the baby in terms of simply adding another tiny version of Rachel to their home, it doesn't scare him as much — that combined with his aversion to father-son relationships makes it an easy choice.

"Please. I can handle three of you. What's your preference?"

"I honestly don't care."

"Yeah, yeah. You just want the baby to be healthy. You still have to answer the question."

"I guess if I had to pick, I'd say a boy."

"You want a mini me walking around? Now I don't think you've thought this through."

"But then we'd have one of each."

"Gross," House feigns disgust. "And what's next? A white picket fence?"

"Of course not. The picket fence can be any color you want, House."

He laughs at the proof that they can banter about anything. "You want to turn this into a bet? I say girl, you say boy, 100 bucks to whoever wins?"

"Our traditional betting currency is clinic duty."

"I guess we should probably start betting in diaper duty instead."

"I could get behind that."

"Loser owes twenty diaper changes?" House proposes.

"Make it fifty."

"Deal," House extends his hand, which Cuddy shakes. And what they don't say is that there could be no diapers to change at all. Cuddy looks genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.

"I guess that was my first act of bravery," she says, her hand still in his.

House thinks of Cuddy bringing in meds into a hostage situation, climbing under rubble to help him save a patient, walking into the dark unknown to rescue her daughter, caring about him at his lowest, taking a chance on building a life with him. Between the two of them, she's always been the brave one. She's always been the one to take on pain and heartbreak headfirst and keep loving anyway.

He looks at her and feels proud. Of what she's done and what she's about to do.

"It's hardly your first, Cuddy."

3 months

(princeton plainsboro's royal baby)

"I need to think about something else," Cuddy says as they sit in the waiting room of her OBGYN's office. It's her twelve-week checkup, a day she's been apprehensive about since the very beginning— and it isn't helping matters that the doctor is running forty-minutes behind schedule. "Distract me."

"I'd love to," House smirks as he starts to get up from his seat. "I think I saw a supply closet in the hallway."

Cuddy rolls her eyes and puts out her arm to block him from moving anywhere. "Believe it or not, there are ways to distract me that don't involve your penis."

"Those are the boring ways," he disputes, before coming up with a conversation that he's sure will keep her mind occupied. "But speaking of fun with little Greg, I wonder when our spawn was conceived."

"I know exactly when."

"How? We have way too much sex to narrow it down."

"You need to lower your voice," she warns, looking around the crowded room. "Do you remember that Sunday morning when we both woke up early and it was raining?"

"Nope."

Except House does remember. They had a particularly domestic Saturday — spent all day playing board and video games with Rachel and then went out for dinner and a movie. The next morning, he miraculously woke up only a few minutes after Cuddy. It was cold and rainy, and he rolled on top of her before they had even said good morning. The intensity of their connection reminded him of the day after Trenton, but with less grime and dust and somehow even more love. He recalls what Cuddy whispered to him, and how much it meant to him. Not that he's planning to admit it in the gynecologist's office of all places.

"Yes, you do," Cuddy calls him out. "We were so connected I had goosebumps."

"Good point. I totally forgot about the correlation between goosebumps and conception."

Cuddy ignores his sarcasm. "The timing matches up."

"Didn't you also jump me in your car that night?"

She laughs. "Oh sure, that you remember perfectly."

"It was very memorable! I was innocently sitting in the passenger seat when suddenly…."

"Innocently? Your hands were all over my thighs on the drive home."

"When suddenly you climbed on top of me and had your evil way with me. And the timing matches up just as well."

"You can think whatever you want, House. I know in my heart that it was the sweet love making, and not the driveway quickie."

"That's definitely not what I'm going to tell Wilson. He deserves to know he was inside the house babysitting Rachel while rugrat number two was being conceived."

Cuddy lifts her hand, most likely to smack him on the chest, but they get called back before she can.

"Saved by the bell," he stands and follows her into the appointment. "Or by the incompetent nurse, is probably the more accurate statement."

—/—

Cuddy is getting settled on the exam table, but when she turns around, she finds that House is the one holding her chart. "What are you doing? Where'd Linda go?"

"I told Nurse Ratched that we don't need her services."

"I can't turn my back for a single second without you causing trouble."

"Yeah, that's not breaking news. Besides, what's the big deal? I think I can handle taking your vitals."

Perhaps the antics are all part of his distraction strategy, but Cuddy doesn't appreciate the terrorizing of nurses she's known for years. Before she can lecture him, he's wrapping the cuff around her arm to take her blood pressure. "It's still a little low, but better than last time," he tells her. "Get on the scale."

She's used to House the defiant employee, and House the surprisingly sweet boyfriend, but House the overly attentive doctor is still new to her. "This is so weird. How do I get you to act like this in the clinic?"

"You don't," he says matter-of-factly. "Hey, you're up four pounds. Guess we're sticking to the grilled cheese regiment."

Just then, the door opens, and Dr. Brianna McArthur walks into the room. "I heard someone was scaring off my nurses. Somehow I knew who the culprit was without even having to ask."

Cuddy has known Brianna for a long time, she worked with her all through IVF and the miscarriage. She's affiliated with Princeton Plainsboro but thankfully also has an office about twenty minutes away, which gives them a chance of keeping their secret from the hospital.

"Updated her chart," House says, handing over the file as Cuddy gets ready for the exam. "And attached her latest blood work. She needs an iron supplement but the cortisol manager is working and her blood sugar is perfect. You're welcome."

"I think we might need to have a conversation about boundaries," Brianna says. "You are this baby's father, Dr. House. You are talented and brilliant, but you're not an expert in this field."

"I appreciate the appeal to my ego, and the fact that you clearly know your audience. But I'm not trying to be an expert — all I did was take her blood pressure and write down her weight."

"You're updating her chart, drawing conclusions about her care. There is a very good reason doctors don't treat their own families."

Cuddy gets it, she really does — especially after the lupus debacle, she knows that House can't be objective about her. Still, there's something about House being involved that makes her feel cared for in a way she's unwilling to give up. She remembers that moment years ago, when she told Emma Sloan that she would trust House to save her own, hypothetical baby. Now it's their baby, and it's no longer hypothetical. There's no way she's going to push him out of the process, even when he's being aggressive and inappropriate.

"You're right," Cuddy admits. "Except that House makes me feel calm. I know that's the opposite of how he makes most people feel, including you. But me being calm is good for the baby. So if there's any possible way you can just...let him be a crazy person, I would consider it a personal favor."

House smiles smugly, in a way that almost makes Cuddy wish she hadn't just defended him.

Brianna ignores him. "You're the patient, Lisa. I trust your judgement. I can let some of it slide, but I'm going to have to draw lines as we get closer to the delivery."

"Of course. We understand. Don't we, House?"

"Yup." He answers half-heartedly.

"Do you want him to do the ultrasound?" Brianna offers, somewhat begrudgingly.

"No. I want him to get his ass over here and hold my hand like a normal boyfriend."

The second House is next to her, their fingers entwined, all forms of distraction evaporate, and she's left with nothing but the all too familiar fear. Cuddy closes her eyes, terrified of what she'll see if she looks at the monitor. She feels the gel on her stomach and the pressure of the transducer against her skin and still she keeps her eyes firmly shut. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

"Cuddy," House says, after a few agonizingly long seconds. "Open your eyes."

"Is everything okay?" She begs for reassurance, unable to follow the instruction or read the tone of his voice.

"Yes," Brianna tells her. "Everything looks great."

Cuddy doesn't know if she can believe it until she hears it from the one person she trusts more than anyone else.

"Open your eyes," House says again, answering her silent plea. "You're missing everything."

When she finally gives in and looks, she's met with the most beautiful sight she's seen since the day she first laid eyes on Rachel: their baby— safe and sound and healthy.

—/—

"You relieved?" House asks when they're back in the car. Cuddy sits in the passenger seat with the ultrasound print out in her lap, running her fingertips over the outline of the baby.

"I am."

"But?"

"Maybe not as much as I expected?" She admits, a little ashamed of it. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm so happy. Probably the happiest I've ever been. But I think I'm going to be anxious the whole time. I'm going to be waiting for something to go wrong until I have this baby in my arms."

"That's okay." If House is disappointed, he doesn't show it. "That's why we pay Nolan the big bucks."

"Thank you for getting us here."

"Doing you in the car to conceive this child truly was my pleasure."

She loves his sense of humor, but she also needs him to know how grateful she is for his patience and support and how he refuses to judge her for being scared. "No, I meant…"

"I know what you meant."

"Good," she accepts, shifting the focus to him. "How are you doing with all this?"

"Honestly? I didn't expect to think it was this cool."

"The ultrasound?"

"Yeah," he confirms, taking the printout from her. "No offense, but the last one was kind of boring. Basically just a blob. This one…" he doesn't finish the sentence, just stares at the picture in his hands.

Cuddy recognizes the look on his face as the same one he has right before he solves a case. She knows he's inching closer to fully realizing the profound ways in which their lives will change if they have this baby. She wants him to take all the time he needs. It's the least she can give him in return for everything he's given her. "You hang on to that for me, okay?"

He smiles at her and slips the ultrasound into his jacket pocket.

—/—

Back at the hospital, House sits at his desk, pretending to be working, but thinking over the last few hours instead. Cuddy rests on his chair, dozing in and out of sleep after an emotionally draining morning. His team comes in from the outer office, barging in as a unified front. "We need to talk to you," Foreman says.

House looks at them, lined up in a row, foreboding expressions on their faces. "You're a couple of years late for an intervention, don't you think?"

"We want to talk to both of you," Foreman clarifies, glancing at Cuddy.

Cuddy sits up, regaining her bearings, and acting as if she never fell asleep. "About what?"

"Frankly, we want to know what the hell is going on with you two."

Talking to Cuddy in an accusatory tone is never a good idea, and House braces himself for how it's going to blow up their faces.

Cuddy clears her throat. "Excuse me?"

"You've been acting bizarre for months. We deserve to know what's happening."

"I know I have a slightly different relationship with this team than with the rest of my employees, but I am still your boss. And House and I do have a right to some degree of privacy."

Taub scoffs at the use of House's name and the word privacy in the same sentence. Which, okay— he doesn't exactly give his own team that right, but that's beside the point.

"You do have a right to privacy," Thirteen agrees. "Except that whatever is happening is starting to impact our work."

This grabs Cuddy's attention, which isn't surprising, because House knows she worries about distracting him from saving lives. "How?" Cuddy asks. "I know for a fact that House hasn't lost a patient since…"

"Don't humor them," House jumps in to save her from revealing too much in her exhausted state. "My work is as brilliant as ever. They're bored of their own lives and want to invade ours. I guess they don't know that's what daytime soaps are for. Apparently, I've taught them nothing."

"So it's not weird that Cuddy is asleep in your office in the middle of the day?" Chase questions. "Or that you two are suddenly attached at the hip?"

"Suddenly?" House mocks the notion. "We've been dating for almost two years."

"Yeah, and in those two years, plus all the years we had to suffer watching you two dance around each other, you never spent all day together at the hospital. You were never one of those couples. Now we can't find one of you without the other. And there's a lot of whispering and hand holding."

"It's true," Taub says. "Cuddy's barely in her office anymore. She's always up here."

House scowls. "Cuddy is your boss and can be wherever the hell she wants."

"We're not complaining," Taub clarifies. "Do you know how much easier it is to not have to go downstairs to get her approval for something? But the rest of the hospital..."

"People are complaining about me being up here?" Cuddy asks, furrowing her brow. House wants to shut them all up, because the last thing she needs is to be worried about work.

"There are a lot of rumors," Foreman says. "And it's harder to defend you guys when we don't know what's true and what's not."

Wilson did tell House a few weeks ago that the hospital has been talking. He didn't give it too much thought, because the hospital is always talking. He wasn't going to stress out Cuddy even more by telling her about it. Now he wonders if maybe he underestimated the rumor mill. "What the hell are people saying?" He demands.

Chase shrugs. "We've heard it all at this point."

"For example?" House pushes, but none of them want to be the first to share. "One of you better spit it out or I'm going to start firing people."

"One of the most popular rumors is that you relapsed and Cuddy is trying to keep it a secret," Thirteen tells them. "But we know you aren't high, because we know what that looks like."

House has to laugh. It's Cuddy who looks like hell and still people assume he's the one in trouble and that helping him is what's causing her to drown. Not that he blames them. Cuddy has an invincible air about her at work. He's one of the only people who gets to see her raw and vulnerable.

"At one point I heard Rachel is sick," Thirteen continues. "But Wilson shut that one down fast."

House feels his blood boil at the mention of Rachel. "I hate this place."

"Oh, and some people think you're doing it in clinic rooms because you keep sneaking off to them randomly during the day," Taub adds.

"I was giving her fluids, but not those kinds!"

Chase ignores him, looks directly at Cuddy. "Are you okay?"

House realizes something that both fascinates and surprises him. "Are you worried about her?"

"Yeah," Chase admits. "Which also makes me worried about you, because I don't think you can function if something is wrong with Cuddy."

Cuddy softens instantly when she figures out this isn't an attack. House watches her transform from pissed off boss to appreciative friend. "Just tell them."

"You can do it."

"No. They're your kids, House."

They do belong to him, in a weird way. These four, who never seem capable of shaking him, despite their many attempts at it. The closest thing he's ever had to consistency in his life is their unconventional unit. Cuddy, Wilson, and this team. House looks at them, wide-eyed with curiosity, and has to reach down somewhere deep inside himself to produce two simple words. "Cuddy's pregnant."

The admission is met with stunned silence and mouths agape.

"What's the matter? Pregnancy wasn't on the never-ending list of rumors?"

"Well," Chase hesitatingly explains. "We kind of thought she... couldn't?"

"So much for privacy." Cuddy sighs before telling them the whole story. "I had a nightmare of a first trimester. House has been my shadow more than usual, but only because he's been keeping me alive, giving me IVs in clinic rooms so I could still work. I'd actually appreciate it if you could start spreading the truth around the hospital. I'll tell the board next month, but it'd be great if the gossip shut down before then."

"Are you kidding me?" Chase says. "We'd love to. This will be like announcing the royal baby."

"Princeton Plainsboro's royal baby," Thirteen amends. "Which is even cooler."

Foreman picks up the ultrasound, examining it for proof it's real, and not some kind of House-like prank. "You're really having a baby?"

And in that moment of his team staring at him with confusion and awe and maybe excitement, it finally hits him. Cuddy is going to be okay. She's going to make it through this pregnancy. And despite the anxiety of the last three months, he's pretty sure their kid is, too. There are no guarantees, like everything else in life, but the likelihood is that this baby is going to be fine. He sees Cuddy watching him and knows she knows exactly what's happening. The flip has switched. Reality has seeped in, with all its endless possibilities.

"Yeah," House says. "We're really having a baby."


	2. Second Trimester

4 Months

(hurricane arlene) 

"Good morning, sunshine."

Cuddy hears House's voice and runs her hands up and down his chest. She's so warm under the blanket and so comfortable against him that she lets out a moan. She's learning that this new routine, where she lets herself sleep in on the weekends, has some very appealing perks. But instead of indulging her, and kissing her as he normally does, House laughs.

"You might want to rev down the engine," he says. "We've got company."

"What?" Cuddy quickly sits up, opens her eyes, and sees House's entire team standing in front of her. Chase is holding the small chalkboard that normally hangs in Rachel's room. Instead of the alphabet, which Rachel's been practicing, there are four symptoms scribbled in adult handwriting.

"House! What the hell!?"

To make matters more ridiculous, Rachel is sitting on the end of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge, staring at her chalkboard as if she's listening intently to the differential. "Mama said a bad word," she announces.

"She did and I'll punish her later," House teases, before offering an explanation. "I've got a new patient. Thirteen found him in the ER last night."

"And? Since when do you work at home?"

"It's Saturday," he says, as if that answers it. "I'm a family man now. I'm not going into work on the weekend. It's called setting work-life boundaries."

The arrogant look on his face is endearing somehow, but she can't enjoy it while they have an audience. "You're setting boundaries by inviting your team into our bedroom?'

"Exactly. I knew you'd understand."

"Why couldn't you use the living room? Or the office? Or any other room in this house?"

"Your arm was around me. Didn't want to wake you. I was being considerate."

"Yes, because waking up to my employees staring at me is much better than you moving my arm. Thank you for your consideration."

"You're welcome."

Cuddy gets out of bed because she figures the best strategy is probably to ignore the whole situation and go about her day as planned.

"You're not wearing pants," House points out as soon as she's standing. "Though to be fair, my t-shirt does cover more of you than some of the outfits you wear to work."

"The socks are a nice touch," Thirteen adds.

Cuddy looks down at herself in House's navy-blue t-shirt and the pink compression socks she's been wearing to alleviate joint pain. It's probably the least sexy or bossy she's ever looked. "Well," she sighs, glancing back at House's team. "I guess I can safely assume these four will never be intimidated by me again."

"If it helps, this is the most scared of you I've ever been," Chase offers.

"They need to leave now," she instructs, ignoring him and addressing House. "Did you forget that my family is coming for dinner tonight?"

"Unfortunately I did not. As much as I tried to."

"You better solve this case fast because I'm not dealing with my mother alone."

"I don't know. My patient is really sick. Maybe we should cancel dinner, in the name of being good doctors."

"Nice try."

Cuddy saunters off to the bathroom knowing that, despite being pant-less, she still won that round somehow.

—/—

The case is far from solved, but is somewhat under control, by the time Arlene and Julia show up that night. House doesn't know what's wrong with the patient yet, but they've at least managed to regulate his breathing while the team runs more tests. House decides to focus on cooking, so he has an excuse to stay in the kitchen while Cuddy gets stuck with greetings and small talk. He hates that he doesn't have Rachel there as a buffer. They sent her to Wilson's for dinner, because they have no idea what to expect from Arlene, except that she can't be trusted to keep her mouth shut once she finds out about the pregnancy. They're still keeping it a secret from Rachel, though House isn't quite sure why. He makes a mental note to ask Cuddy about that later.

As much as he wishes cooking would take all night, he can only put off the inevitable for so long. The four of them sit down to dinner, and he wonders what Cuddy's strategy is for dropping their big news. He's been distracted by the case, so they didn't have time to come up with an Arlene specific game plan, which usually includes Cuddy pacing around and practicing conversations out loud.

As soon as the salad is served, Cuddy opens her mouth to speak, but Arlene aggressively cuts her off before she can. "Are you going to tell us why you look so awful?"

"What?" Cuddy seems startled by the interruption, but House has come to expect nothing less, which is why he tries to avoid these gatherings as much as possible.

"Are we not supposed to notice that you look terrible? I've never seen you so pale and exhausted. And that's including right after your father died. What's wrong with you?"

House lets his fork drop loudly onto his plate, hoping to refocus Arlene's wrath onto him. "I know we don't have time to fully answer this question, but I'd rather discuss what's wrong with you. I can start with some suggestions."

It works— Arlene turns to face him directly. "Why are you not taking care of my daughter, Mr. Big Shot Doctor?"

"Leave him alone," Cuddy warns. "I'm pregnant."

"I take it back," Arlene deadpans, without missing a beat. "I guess you have been taking care of my daughter."

The retort makes House want to laugh, but he doesn't; he refuses to let Arlene win at anything ever, but especially not now.

"You're pregnant?" Julia questions in disbelief. "Oh my god. How far along?"

"We just hit sixteen weeks."

"I can't believe it. After everything you went through, after all this time, you're finally getting what you've always wanted. I'm so excited for you."

House notices Cuddy visibly tense at her sister's words. "I already have what I want with House and Rachel," she calmly explains. "But this is an amazing, unexpected bonus."

"Unexpected?" Arlene repeats back to them. "How exactly do two doctors have an unplanned pregnancy?"

"I thought I couldn't have kids, mom. You know that. I really don't know why you'd make me say it."

"But you must hear stories all the time about women who want a baby for years and suddenly get pregnant when they stop trying."

"What's your point?" House asks impatiently, because he won't let this turn into a forum on Cuddy's fertility.

"That you couldn't have been against the idea if Lisa wasn't on birth control."

"Hold on," House realizes then that, somehow, this is about him. "Who the hell said I'm against it?"

"Everything I know about you."

"You don't really know House," Cuddy intervenes, saving him from saying something much worse. "And that's fine. But you can't make sweeping judgments about what he wants based on the few hours you've spent with him."

"So you do want this?" Arlene pushes.

"Weren't you almost her donor for IVF?" Julia jumps in. "Would you have said yes if she had asked?"

"Please stop," Cuddy pleads. "The timing wasn't right for us then. It is now. Can you try being happy for us instead of interrogating him?"

"I'll be happy for you once I'm sure my future grandchild's father wants to be here."

House's head is spinning. Because Arlene is a psychotic bitch, but behind her venom, there might be a semblance of a point. House never expected Cuddy to get pregnant after everything she's been through, but of course somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the possibility existed.

Arlene also has it entirely wrong. If he's completely honest with himself, he's always been strangely drawn to the idea of a family with Cuddy, before he understood why. Deep down he wanted her to ask him to be her donor for IVF, even if he was nowhere near ready then. And from day one he's tried his best with Rachel despite being terrified. Because being a real part of Cuddy, and having as much of her as possible, has long been his end game.

"To answer both of your questions, I have long been interested in the idea of procreating with Cuddy."

"Interested?" Arlene scoffs. "That's how you describe impregnating my daughter? It's interesting to you?"

For a second House is nervous he's screwed up, but when he looks at Cuddy, she's beaming at him. She puts her hand on top of his. "See, if you really knew House, you'd know that 'interesting' is his highest form of praise. If he didn't want this, he'd say it was boring."

"You two are honestly so weird," Julia laughs, though it's clear she means it.

"And you two suck at congratulating people," House fires back.

"Congratulations," Arlene concedes.

House swears she's almost smiling.

—/—

In between dinner and dessert House wanders into Cuddy's bedroom, where his phone is plugged in and charging on the dresser. He sends Wilson a message to make sure babysitting Rachel is going smoothly, and then checks to see if he's missed anything from his team. He's in the middle of sending an obnoxious text to Foreman, demanding more information about the lab results, when he hears a voice from behind him.

"How are you going to handle a baby when you have to run and hide from your girlfriend's mother?"

House turns around to see Arlene hovering in the doorway.

"I came in here to make sure Rachel is okay, but keep on dreaming that I'm afraid of you."

"Sure you did."

House holds up his cell phone, showing off the text to Wilson: Send proof of life on little Cuddy. Just then, Wilson replies with a picture of Rachel on the couch with a book in her lap. Perfect timing from his best friend.

"Well, good."

"I do not accept your apology, stalker."

"The only reason I followed you in here is because I still want to know why Lisa looks the exact opposite of glowing."

House lets down his guard for a moment, because as annoyed as he is, he also knows what it's like to worry about Cuddy. "She looks exhausted because she is. Her first trimester was horrific. She's a little better now, definitely puking less."

Arlene takes a few steps further into the room and lowers her voice. "I think it's far time that you and I come to an agreement."

"I know how much you dig getting with younger men, but I'm not setting you up with Wilson. You'd crush his soul like a bug and the Thanksgiving dinners would be unbearable."

She rolls her eyes, ignores the joke, and presses on with her agenda. "The fact that my daughter felt the need to hide a difficult pregnancy from me for four months is disturbing. I want you to promise that you'll tell me if I ever need to be concerned about her."

"No," he says simply. "I'm never going to go behind Cuddy's back to tell you something she doesn't want you to know."

"I'm not asking you to betray her. I don't exactly trust you, but I do trust that you're looking out for her."

Despite his many criticisms of Arlene, it's the one thing they can agree on. "However much you think I love her, it doesn't even come close to how much I do."

"Oh, please. I knew exactly how much you love her from the day I had movers at my house pulling her med-school desk out of the basement."

House is amused by that particular call back. "You remember that."

"I tend to remember grand gestures. I also haven't exactly forgotten that you wanting to make sure nothing bad ever happens to my daughter is the reason I'm alive."

He's surprised because she rarely ever acknowledges that he saved her life, and if she does, it's usually to complain about the scar he left when he sliced her open.

"True. And yet every time you come over here it's like you're begging me to regret that."

"Do you have parents?"

"Nope," House answers the strange segue. "Satan dropped me directly on your daughter's doorstep just to make you miserable."

Arlene smirks. "That sounds plausible."

"My dad's dead," House tells her. "My mom lives in Virginia."

"Does she know about the baby?"

"Not yet. I'll get around to it eventually."

He doesn't know why he's so hesitant to share the first good piece of news he's had in years, news his mom would love to hear. Maybe it's something to do with the bubble. He's used to Arlene popping it and invading their privacy. He's not sure what adding his own mom to the mix will do.

"You know, you and Lisa are so alike that I find it a bit scary at times."

"Oh yeah, we're together because we have the same taste in shoes."

"I'm serious. You're such an asshole that you forget my daughter is also an asshole. You think she's nice because she's better at being polite. She's demanding, has ridiculous expectations, and can be horribly mean when she wants to be. She might be more put together than you, but you're both incapable of letting in anyone besides each other. Including your own mothers."

This is what it always boils down to, he thinks. It isn't that Arlene's assessment is wrong, but it is devastatingly incomplete. Cuddy does have high expectations and knows how to hit where it hurts, but she's also annoyingly empathetic and cares way too much for her own good.

"Yeah, it's a mystery why she had to learn how to be mean as a defense mechanism against people who treat her like garbage. It's weird considering she grew up with such a warm and fuzzy mother."

Arlene looks at him like maybe she gets it, maybe she knows the way she behaves towards Cuddy isn't always fair, even if she thinks it's for her own good. And even though House lucked out, even though it turns out Cuddy is just the right amount of jaded to be perfect for him, he can still resent the way Arlene treats her.

"My point is that you two don't have to be an island. You're both workaholics and you're about to be responsible for two children under six years old. You aren't exactly young, either."

"You've spent years harassing her to have a family like Julia, and now she's too old?"

"I'm saying you can't do this alone."

"We don't plan on it. We have a nanny. And a Wilson."

"And imagine if grandmothers were involved."

"Maybe if grandmothers didn't call us assholes, we'd be more inclined to get them involved."

Arlene shakes her head, perhaps simply because she's out of retaliation. "I cannot believe you're the man my daughter fell in love with."

"You like me better than Julia's dumb husband. I know it."

"I absolutely do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

He could stand there all night and argue with Cuddy's mom like they're five-years-old. Or he could direct her back to the kitchen and end the torture as soon as humanly possible.

"You want to go eat some of the cake Cuddy baked for dessert?"

"You let her bake? I thought you were the cook."

"She had supervision."

Arlene shrugs, a truce of sorts. "Sure."

It's not like he's afraid to drug her coffee if he has to.

—/—

Cuddy is physically and mentally drained by the time her family leaves and Rachel gets home. So much so that House offers to put Rachel to bed. Cuddy still wants to contribute something, so she puts the dishes away and tries her best to clean up. When she's done, she collapses on a kitchen chair and puts her feet up on the chair next to her.

"Did Rach give you any trouble?" She asks when House returns to the kitchen. Unlike her, he appears wide awake, as if it were the middle of the afternoon. It might be because of the two and a half cups of coffee he had with dessert.

"Nope," House moves Cuddy's feet so he can sit down, then puts them back on his lap. "But now that your family knows, when do you plan on telling her she's going to be a big sister? Or are we going to let her think you ate a really big meal and surprise her?"

Cuddy has been dreading this conversation for weeks, and she's surprised it's taken so long for House to question her about it. She looks down at her stomach, which still isn't showing much, and tries to focus on a technicality. "I don't think Rachel can tell anything is different yet."

"You're avoiding the question," House calls her out, sensing there's more to it. He's been more willing than usual to let her get away with things, but he still holds her accountable and keeps her honest. "Why don't you want to tell Rachel about the baby? We both know anything can happen, but the odds are…"

"No, I promise it's not that. It's that I'm scared of screwing it up."

"What's there to screw up? It's pretty straightforward."

"Our situation is a bit more delicate."

"Our situation? What the hell does that mean?"

Cuddy has spent hours and hours obsessing about it, picturing the ways she might get it wrong and the repercussions it could have.

"Rachel could ask questions that I need to have the right answers to. She might want to know why this baby is growing in mommy's tummy when she didn't. Or if you're this baby's dad, are you also her dad?"

"Ah."

If anything, Cuddy's concern was cemented by her sister's reaction tonight. The subtext that somehow this baby is an improvement on Rachel, that only now will they be a real family. It makes her furious, because nothing has been more real than coming home to House and Rachel every night— than loving them and watching them grow to love each other.

"I've been talking to Nolan about this. I have a lot of anxiety about Rachel feeling like the baby is ours and she isn't. I know I'm partially internalizing other people's reactions, but I can't help it."

"You know how much I care about that kid, right?"

"I do. I know you wouldn't treat them differently on purpose. I just want them to feel the same in every possible way. I never want Rachel to feel like she was some kind of...temporary fix until we could have a biological child."

"As your mother graciously pointed out tonight, this wasn't planned. Nothing needed to be fixed."

"It's going to be a long time before Rachel is old enough to understand that. And I'd die before I ever let her feel less than."

"We both know how many studies prove that the exact same brain chemical is released in caretakers regardless of if kids are theirs biologically."

It's such a House response, which is exactly what she needs. "Science says you're going to treat them the same?"

He nods.

"I'm sure Julia would call us weird again, but that's the most reassuring thing I could hear from you."

"You're only hyper-focused on this because of all the comparison your mom does between you and Julia. But you are no Arlene."

Maybe it should've been obvious to her, but he's hit the nail on the head. Turning into her mother is one of her biggest fears, and she strives to make sure Rachel never feels any of the things she felt as a child — insecure, alone, not good enough.

"You will never make Rachel feel less than," House says with confidence. "If anything, you're going to screw her up by overcorrecting and making her a huge mama's girl who can't ever leave home."

"Thank you," Cuddy laughs. "I think..."

"Happy to help."

"It's the same with you. The way you are with Rachel, I mean. It amazes me because you're still yourself, but you never talk down to her or lose patience. And I know that's because…"

"Yeah," House quickly agrees, not wanting to expand. "It is."

Cuddy is considering whether or not to say more on the subject of his father, but House speaks up before she can. "And by the way, Rachel wants a sibling."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No, but Nessa has one."

Cuddy searches her mind, but can't come up with a single friend of Rachel's named Nessa. "Who?"

"Rachel's favorite character on Brownbeard. She has a sister named Liv who Rachel is also obsessed with. When we tell Rachel, she's going to rant about them, which will tire her out before she asks any of these questions you're so worried about."

Maybe the fact that House knows Rachel well enough to make this prediction should answer any remaining questions she has. And maybe now is the time to rip off the rest of the metaphorical band-aid.

"Nolan also said I should tell you that… that I don't want Rachel calling you House while the baby calls you dad. I think it's going to confuse her and make her feel different."

She can physically sense House studying her in the intense way he does. "Are you nervous right now?" he asks.

She gets why he's confused by it — because they don't get scared around each other. They're blunt because they know the other one can handle it, and will be just as honest in return.. "A little," she admits. "I don't want to pressure you, but Rachel's feelings are so important. Not saying that yours aren't, what I mean is that.."

"Stop rambling."

She's also nervous because she knows she can't handle a rejection on this topic, especially not after the night they've had. "Let's finish talking about this tomorrow, okay?" She chickens out, ending the conversation. "I'm exhausted from Hurricane Arlene."

House stands up to lead her to the bedroom, granting her a much needed reprieve, and possibly giving himself the time to think about what she's said.

—/—

House can't sleep, partially from the coffee, and partially from the unexpected conversation with Cuddy. He doesn't want to wake her up with his tossing and turning, so he decides to watch TV on the couch instead. He's flipping through channels, trying to find something mindless, when he hears the familiar sound of tiny feet pattering down the hallway.

"Hey," House calls out to Rachel, intercepting her path to Cuddy's bedroom. "What are you doing up?"

"Hi," she says, running over to him. "You're awake too!"

"I'm a grown up. I can do whatever I want. You have a bedtime."

"But I'm not sleepy."

"Can't say I'm surprised. Wilson probably bored you to death at his apartment."

"Can we watch Brownbeard?"

"Sure."

Rachel climbs up onto the couch, and settles on House's lap. He puts on their favorite show and lets it play while he contemplates how many hours they've spent exactly like this, how he often even looks forward to spending time with the tiny human currently sitting on him.

"Do you like hanging out with me?" He asks her, when the first commercial break comes on. Frankly he has no idea how she feels about their relationship, or his place in her life, but he figures she should have a say.

"Yes!"

House quickly realizes it's the wrong question. After all, he's letting her stay up to watch a cartoon that she shouldn't be watching to begin with. Why wouldn't she like hanging out with him?

"Am I any good at taking care of you?"

It's likely an inappropriate question to ask a kid, but kids have no filter, so she'll tell him the truth whether he likes the answer or not.

"Course."

"Why of course?"

"I dunno. Cause. You are."

"Well thanks for clearing that up."

Rachel dramatically turns away from the television. "None of my friends at school have parents that play with them all the time like you and mom do. I always say how my mom and dad work at the hospital and have to help people all day but still play with me."

House stares at her in shock. Rachel has never used the d-word before, at least not out loud. It's so very Cuddy of Rachel to make the decision for him, to settle any doubt all on her own. He doesn't know how long she's looked at him this way, but it can't be a completely new development if she's able to say it so casually and confidently.

"Marissa told me her mom and dad never, ever read her stories before bed. Sometimes you sing before bed or make up your own stories. We don't even need books. And you make us food and you take me to school and we play in the fort and 'member when I broke the cup and cut my hand and you did the stitches?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"So why are you being silly?"

"Because sometimes I'm pretty stupid."

"No, House. You're smart. A genius. Like a real one. Mama told me."

Except a real genius would've realized a long time ago how wrong it would be for a baby to call him dad before Rachel got to. She's the one who eased him into this life and made him capable. Cuddy is the one he fell in love with, but it's Rachel who stabilized him. He couldn't have this baby if he didn't have Rachel in his life first. That's a fact — one he should've seen much sooner.

"Hey." Before he even realizes, Cuddy is standing in front of them, a blanket wrapped snugly around her shoulders. "What's going on out here?"

"Nothing," House says as the commercial ends.

"This doesn't seem like nothing. I think I'm looking at two guilty pirates who should both be in bed."

"It's not like she has school tomorrow."

"That doesn't make this cartoon any less vulgar."

As much as she pretends to object, Cuddy never does anything to stop them from watching Brownbeard. House is sure she actually likes that he has a thing with Rachel that's wholly theirs.

"You wanna complain? Or do you want to join us?"

Cuddy sits down on the couch as her answer. He's surprised she's awake and wonders if their conversation is also on her mind.

"Rachel," House says, certain she can clarify things for Cuddy, too. "Tell your mom what you told me."

"Huh?" Rachel half-heartedly answers, eyes glued to the show.

"About what you told your friends? You said it like five seconds ago."

"Oh, yeah. I said how my mom and dad play with me even when they're busy."

House watches Cuddy closely, trying to gauge her reaction. She tries to remain stoic but there's a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Oh."

"She answered your question for herself, without us even asking, once again proving she takes after you. And I'm good with it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Cuddy lets out a sigh of relief. "I've been up thinking instead of sleeping. You were right. I was letting my anxiety get the best of me for no real reason. We should just tell her."

"Now?"

"She's wide awake, we might as well."

"Don't blame me. Blame Uncle Wilson."

"Rachel, honey…" Cuddy starts.

But Rachel quickly objects. "Mama I'm trying to watch the show and you guys keep talking."

At least he's teaching her to take her shows seriously. "Brownbeard time is sacred, Cuddy."

"Okay— but we have to tell you something when it's over."

Rachel watches the cartoon, and Cuddy watches Rachel, and House watches Cuddy watching Rachel. Cuddy rests her head against his shoulder. He could stay like this forever, but eventually the credits roll.

"That was a good one," Rachel says, looking up at House.

"I mean, there were a few plot holes. There's no way they could've found the treasure map that easily, but I'll let it slide because the alligator was cool."

"As much as I enjoy the post-show analysis," Cuddy interrupts, "can we share our news now?"

"Yes, mama."

She puts both hands on Rachel's cheeks, gently holding her face. "House and I are going to have a baby. You're going to be a big sister."

Rachel lights up. "Really?"

"Really."

"Like Nessa and Liv!"

House shoots Cuddy an 'I told you so' look, which causes her to laugh. "Yes baby, like them. Except we don't know if you're going to have a sister or brother yet."

"Doesn't matter. We can still be pirates together. Can we get a parrot?"

"No way," House answers. "Do you have any idea how annoying parrots are in real life? Following you around, repeating everything you say, and never shutting up?"

"Oh," Rachel considers the logic. "Okay, I'll just take the sister."

"Or brother," Cuddy corrects.

Rachel gets up to hug her mom, and stands on House's leg to do so. As she climbs all over him, she carefully avoids contact with his scar. She might only be five, but she already knows him that deeply. He doesn't understand how a little kid can possibly be so smart, intuitive, or considerate. But that's Rachel. Genes or not, the new baby has big shoes to fill.

—/—

Cuddy rushes down the hall as fast as her feet will let her, which is admittedly a lot slower than they used to. She's not sure what's happened, but she knows something went wrong with House's case and it caused him to miss their latest doctor's appointment.

"What's going on?" She asks as soon as she gets into his office.

"We figured it out at the last possible minute. It was relapsing polychondritis. We've got him on steroids and methotrexate."

"That is so rare," she marvels at him.

"I would've realized sooner, but he didn't have the auricular manifestation. It was all in the trachea and heart."

"Good catch. That would've killed him."

"It almost did."

House looks subdued and contemplative, which is not his usual post-diagnosis mood. "You solved the case. Why do you look so miserable?"

"Are you mad that I missed the appointment?"

"Not at all," she promises. "And trust me when I say that Dr. MacArthur did not miss you one bit."

"I wanted to be there."

"As your boss, I want you to do your job."

"But as my baby mama, you want me at appointments."

"You had a life to save."

House nods, accepting that she means it. "How'd it go?"

"Good. Except that I owe fifty diaper changes, which is a lot. I regret suggesting that number."

"What?"

"A bet's a bet, House."

She watches as realization washes over him. "It's a girl?"

"You win. As usual. And I guess Rachel wins, too. She'll get her pirate sister."

She hands him the latest ultrasound and all her paperwork, because she knows he'll want to read through it for himself. She can tell he's relieved, and she knows it goes back to his father. Cuddy would've loved a little boy with House's mischievous smile, but there's something special about another girl. She goes through life feeling loved and protected in a way that is so unique to House. She never thought anyone else would understand what it's like. But she's going to have two daughters who get to experience it, too.

"So, we've got a Cuddy-junior-junior on our hands."

"We do. And speaking of that, I think you should take the lead with picking out her name. I mean, I want full veto power, but…"

"What?" House shakes his head like he must've heard incorrectly. "Why would a notorious control freak want that?"

"I named Rachel without your input."

"Yeah, that was horrible of you. How dare you not consult a man you weren't dating at the time about what to name your child."

"I know it sounds dumb. But I hate that you weren't even at Rachel's naming ceremony because we were being stubborn. I was in love with you and I wanted you there and I'm going to regret not saying that for the rest of my life. So, I want you to do this. But we're not naming her Jagger."

"Then what's the point of even having her?"

"We're also not naming her after a bike."

"Harley is a nice name."

"No bikes, House."

"Fine. No bikes. But you're doing an awful lot of controlling for someone who just said they wanted me to decide."

"Better get used to that paradox. You've got three Cuddy women on your hands now."

"I'm in deep shit."

"If I recall, you claimed you could handle it."

"Everybody lies?"

"And we didn't even mention the added bonus of Arlene and Julia. That's five Cuddy women."

House groans, feigning dread, but it's one of the lighter moments they've had in months. "You were right, maybe I didn't think this through."

5 months

(the contract) 

Cuddy is frantically throwing clothes around her closet when a still sleepy House walks in and processes the strange sight of her in the middle of a meltdown. "What is happening right now?" He asks, rubbing his eyes. "Why are you so mad at your clothes?"

"Nothing fits!" She shrieks, gesturing to her stomach.

"Yeah, you finally popped."

Even though she hasn't gained weight in her arms, legs, or face, she's now sporting a distinct bump that she can't get any of her skirts, dresses, or pants over. She loves the physical reminder that this pregnancy is going well, but her wardrobe wasn't prepared.

"Nothing zips up! Nothing. And I'm already late."

"Your current outfit looks good to me," House remarks at her yoga shorts and bra.

"This isn't funny," she whines, trying to get him to take the situation seriously. "I have a board meeting tonight."

"You're pregnant. No one is going to care what you wear and it's illegal for them to say anything to you."

"I care what I look like."

"So take the morning off and go shopping."

"That's impossible. You know how crazy my days are when I have board meetings. There's so much to prepare." She steps out of her shorts and into one of her few loose fitting dresses, a last ditch effort. "Zip me up?

He steps closer to her and tries to help, but the zipper won't budge after only a few inches. "Sorry, no can do."

"This is a disaster."

"No, it isn't — turn on your doctor brain. This is good and normal."

"That doesn't solve my current problem, does it?"

There are tears in her eyes and it makes her feel ridiculous. It's a superficial thing to be upset about and she knows that. But she's sweaty and uncomfortable and doesn't want to start a long day already hours behind.

House stands there in silence for a few seconds looking confused. "I don't have a case right now," he finally says. "Do you want me to go buy you something to wear to the board meeting?"

"You'd do that?" She asks, not sure he's serious.

"If it gets you to stop throwing clothes, crying, and acting crazy? Sure. It has to be marginally better than clinic duty."

"There's a maternity store off Porter Street. I swear I was planning to go, but this somehow happened so fast. All my clothes still fit until they didn't."

"That's the problem with all the tight clothes. Not that I'm complaining, but there's no room for error." House bends down and picks a semi crumpled pair of scrubs off the floor. "Wear these until I get to the hospital. The pants stretch and if anyone asks you can pretend you're on your way into surgery."

"That's not a bad idea."

She lets the dress fall to the floor and puts on the scrubs. House stares at her once she has them on, but she can't read his expression. "Why are you looking at me like that?" She asks, self-conscious. "Do I look that bad?"

"You look great. It's the pink scrubs. They still do something to me every time."

The sweet and unexpected reference causes the tears to flow again. "House, that's..."

"Oh, no. Don't. Not when I just got the crying to stop. That was my bad. I take it back. I feel absolutely nothing about the outfit you confessed your love for me in!"

"Too late!"

"I'm going to back away slowly and leave so I can get this over with. Keep your phone on. I might have questions."

"Remember this is for work. This isn't you shopping for what you want me to wear. I can't dress too slutty at work."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"Does this seem like a kidding morning to you?"

"I have years of detailed memories of you in slutty work outfits, but okay boss."

—/—

Wilson starts laughing the second they enter the store. "Something funny?" House asks, as if it's an ordinary outing for them to be on.

"Yes," his best friend gestures around them. "This."

"The great Cuddy closet massacre is no laughing matter, Wilson. I was almost taken out with a pair of leggings."

"I'm sure it was terrifying," he says sarcastically, and then starts laughing again.

"Stop it," House warns.

"I'm sorry, but us shopping for maternity clothes for Cuddy because she's pregnant with your baby is both the most surreal and inevitable thing that's happened in our entire friendship."

Sometimes House does consider the inevitability of it all —he's been drawn to Cuddy since she was nineteen years old, and their lives have been intertwined at every significant moment since. Maybe they were always headed here, one way or another. But instead of dwelling on that, he spots a table covered with lace underwear. "Oh, look!"

Wilson trails behind him, but shuts his eyes when he figures out what House has located. "Stop."

"Why?"

"Because it's Cuddy."

"She's not here. She's not in them,"

"Still. I don't want to know what her lingerie looks like. She's like my sister."

"Well your sister has been horny as hell lately and her boobs are getting bigger by the day— a combination that makes my life very, very awesome." House holds up two bras. "What do you think? Black or red?"

"I think she didn't send you here for those."

Just then, an employee comes over, eyeing them both suspiciously. "Do you two need help?"

"Yes, please," Wilson shoves House closer towards the petite woman, who appears to be in her early sixties. "Help him."

"My super hot and now expanding girlfriend needs new clothes."

"Oh," she replies with relief over their legitimate reason for being in the store. "Congratulations. I'm Rebecca and I'd be happy to help you shop for her. Is there something in particular she needs?"

"You know Princeton Plainsboro Hospital?"

"Of course."

"She runs it. And she has a meeting tonight."

"We have plenty of business attire. Right this way please."

House and Wilson follow her towards the back of the store. When they get there, House takes in the very boring, very plain, very not-Cuddy outfits. "I worry you're not understanding the true level of hotness that we're dealing with here," he says. "You need to picture the hottest woman you've ever seen in your life. Then multiply that by a billion."

The woman stares at him, not sure how to respond.

"You probably think I'm exaggerating," House pulls out his phone, starts showing off pictures of Cuddy. "Do you see this?"

"She's very pretty."

"Pretty? We're talking about the actual hottest woman alive. We have to do better than these ugly shirts, Rebecca."

Wilson just starts laughing again.

—/—

Cuddy is reading through a pile of budget requests for her meeting when House and Wilson walk into her office holding four shopping bags each. "Oh my god," she says. "I needed one outfit. Why do you guys have so much stuff?"

"He has six more bags in the car," Wilson informs her.

"What?! What did you do? Buy the whole store?"

"You wouldn't answer the phone," House explains. "And I didn't want to have to go back there."

"I'm sorry. I got pulled into an OR because Kruger and Chaney were fighting again. You wouldn't believe the drama in the orthopedics department right now."

"I guess it's a good thing you were already wearing scrubs." House collapses on the couch, puts his feet up on the table. "You can take back what you don't like."

"Thank you for going with him, Wilson."

"Don't thank him," House objects. "He didn't do anything except make fun of me and refuse to look at your new underwear."

"And on that note," Wilson turns around to leave. "Goodbye."

Cuddy smiles, well aware how lucky she is to have them both. "I really do appreciate this, House," she reiterates once they're alone. "I know it was out of your comfort zone."

"I definitely prefer undressing you to dressing you."

"Of course."

"What time is Marina leaving later? I was thinking of stopping by my apartment to grab some more of my own clothes since you keep stealing my things."

"She goes home at six, you should have time."

House gets up to leave, and she should probably let him considering she's already given him the morning off to go shopping for her, which is not exactly boss-like behavior. Instead, she lets herself say something that she's been thinking for weeks. "Maybe you should bring all your clothes. And the rest of your guitars and stuff?"

She half expects him to make a joke, but he looks intrigued by the offer. "Yeah?"

"I know we haven't talked about it, but I kind of assumed you're going to live with us more officially now?"

"Really? I figured I'd just drop by on weekends, make sure everyone is still breathing, and then go back to watching my soaps at my place."

"You're very funny."

"I'll bring my stuff," House says. "And

then we can figure out what to do with the apartment. I can sell it or we can rent it out to med students or something. That way when Rachel goes to Princeton, she can move in and feel like she has independence but really we'll be relieved that she's only a few minutes away."

Cuddy loves the use of we, like he wants her to have a say in what he does with his apartment, a place she's never lived in and has no technical claim to. She has an emotional attachment to it, to the place where she finally worked up the nerve to tell him how she felt.

And frankly she loves hearing him talk about Rachel's future and his own investment in it even more.

"That sounds like a good plan, House."

She doesn't know how he does it — he's managed to turn her whole shitty day around.

—/—

What happens next is strange, because House has had Mayfield on his mind all afternoon. He's wanted to live with Cuddy for a long time, but moving in has always been a sore subject for him. The last time he asked her, he was in the middle of a breakdown. He's long been afraid that really asking her would remind her of that horrible day and all the reasons she shouldn't be with him. So he's avoided it, like a coward, waiting to see if she'd ever notice he was always at her place anyway.

He's going through his drawers, pulling out clothes to throw in a suitcase, when he stumbles across a folder buried at the bottom. He wonders if it's an old case file, but when he pulls it out, he finds his discharge papers from Mayfield. He has no recollection of putting them there, but maybe he blocked it out, as he tried to do with much of that experience.

Even though he knows it's a bad idea, he skims through the paperwork, which is riddled with words like hallucinations and addict and incurable chronic pain and psychotic break. They hit him, like a physical blow to the throat, leaving him gasping for air.

They make him feel like an imposter, like he's been pretending for months that he's capable of any of this. They make him want to go sit in a bar and get drunk so he can turn off his brain before it starts insisting that Cuddy and Rachel and the new baby would be better off without him.

But he can't go to a bar, because Marina is leaving soon. So he shoves the papers in his jacket pocket and tries to refocus on packing instead.

—/—

It's 9:30 PM by the time Cuddy gets home from her meeting and all she wants to do is go to sleep. She walks through the front door and sees House on the couch, his suitcases sprawled out on the floor. "Hi. How's Rach?"

"She played every instrument I own for five seconds each and then crashed."

Despite the humorous answer, Cuddy senses that something isn't right. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

But she knows it isn't true. He looks spaced out, overwhelmed, stressed. "Did you get spooked bringing more of your stuff here?"

"No. At least not in the way you think."

"What does that mean?"

"Are you sure you want to raise two kids with a drug addict?"

Cuddy stops dead in her tracks and puts her briefcase down the floor. There's a haunted expression on his face that sends shivers down her spine. "What?"

"You heard the question."

"Why would you ask me that?"

"Because it's important."

"I don't see you that way."

"You don't see me for what I am?"

Cuddy takes off her coat and tries to remain calm. She sits down next to him and reminds herself she needs to tread lightly. "Of course I do. I know you're in pain and you wish you could take Vicodin almost every single day. I probably don't thank you enough for how often you actively push back against that instinct."

"I'm not asking for thanks. I'm telling you the reality of your life and asking you if you're sure it's what you want."

"And I'm telling you there's a lot more to you than a drug addiction that you've recovered from," she pushes back. "Do you think it's a bad thing that I see it that way?"

"It's not bad. It might be naïve."

"I am not naïve, House. I know everything there is to know about you."

"I guess." He looks so vulnerable, so desperate for validation. "But I've been sober for our entire relationship. Are you going to feel the same way about me if I screw up?"

"Yes." A thought crosses her mind, as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge it, she has to. "Did you take Vicodin today?"

"No."

"You can tell me if you did."

"I didn't," he insists. "I still think we should talk about what happens when I relapse with two kids in the house."

"Why are you saying when, and not if?"

"I'd love to use the word if, Cuddy. But we're talking about the next eighteen years, right? We both know that most addicts relapse at some point. Eighteen years is a long time."

They have spent their entire relationship avoiding this subject, coasting on his sobriety like it's a given. She knows he's right, they should talk about it. But she still feels like she's missing a piece of the puzzle — there must be some reason he was triggered into pursuing this conversation tonight.

"What happened at your apartment this afternoon?" She asks, and then notices the folded piece of paper in his hands. "What are you holding?"

She goes to take it from him, but he doesn't let go. It's the biggest signal that something is amiss. "We don't hide things from each other," she reminds him. "You're really scaring me now."

Her fear is enough to get him to hand it over. "I found it in my stuff."

Cuddy processes the documents with the familiar Mayfield logo. She was expecting something so much worse. "You think any of this is news to me? I was there."

"You were there, you weren't there. It was all the same to me at that point."

She can't imagine how hard it is for him to reference the hallucinations. They hardly ever talk about those, either. "I'm here. Right here. Please tell me why finding this today upset you so much."

"Because I'm worried you have somehow been deluded into thinking…"

"Don't call me deluded," she cuts him off, soft but firm. "Or naïve. Or any of these words you're using to describe me. I wasn't tricked into this relationship. In fact, I was the one who showed up at your apartment desperately wanting to be with you, whether you were sober or not."

"Cuddy. You don't understand."

"Yes, I do. I know exactly what you're thinking. You're imagining a scenario where you're sleep deprived because a screaming baby has kept us up all night. It's raining and your leg is in excruciating pain. You go to work and lose a patient and you feel like it's your fault because maybe if you had slept you would've been able to figure it out faster. You feel like you're not a good enough boyfriend or parent or doctor. So you slip up and take Vicodin before you even realize what's happened."

House looks startled at the accuracy of her assessment. "I don't want to break up over it," he explains. "But I want to be fully aware of the consequences and I want us to both agree on them."

"Consequences? How about we talk about it in terms of having a plan? Not in terms of punishment."

"What would be your plan? In that scenario?"

"Are you thinking I'd leave you?"

"I'm thinking you'd put your kids first, which you should."

"I can do that and still not leave."

"Can you?" House challenges.

"Yes."

"So what would you do?" He asks again — he's not going to stop until she gives a detailed answer.

"I guess I'd want to call Nolan and get you in to see him," she starts, thinking through every word carefully. "I'm not an expert on addiction and I don't think I could make unbiased decisions about you. I wouldn't want you high around the kids because I don't think a child should ever have to see a parent like that, even though we both know you're pretty high functioning."

"I never want them to see me high. And they're not getting kicked out of their home because of my mistake. I'll go to Wilson's or a hotel until I'm sober."

"You think I'll let you stay in a hotel alone in the middle of a relapse?"

"Wilson's it is then."

"What do I do if you lie to me?"

"Good girl," House says with admiration. "That's the right question."

But it makes her feel horrible. "I hated asking it."

"I don't think I could hide it for very long. You've seen me high and you've seen me sober. I think you'd figure it out."

"You could avoid me."

"If I'm avoiding you and Wilson you'll know something is up. That's a big enough red flag for you to confront me about it. If you don't believe my answer, you can search my stuff."

She'll happily do that for him, but she worries. "I don't want you to look at me as the person who searches your stuff."

"I think what I'm saying is that being with me might at some point require you to search my stuff."

"I can do that," she agrees. "Will you resent me for it?"

"I could never resent you."

Cuddy wishes she could do something more to make him feel secure. An idea strikes her then. She gets up from the couch, grabs a pen and a pad of paper from her briefcase, and sits back down. "Let's make this official," she says.

And then she writes down:

No leaving.

Call Nolan for a specific detox/rehab plan.

Stay at Wilson's until sober.

If need be, Cuddy has permission to search House's stuff.

No resentment.

Cuddy signs it and dates it and then turns to him. "Sign please."

House looks at her with both amusement and pride. "You're such a goddamn administrator."

"Mock all you want, but this is a binding contract now."

House signs his name, and even though he's rolling his eyes, she feels like she got through to him. "I'm sure you're what I want," she says, to drive the point home. "Has it been harder lately? To stay sober? With all of these big life changes?"

"Honestly? No. This is the happiest I've ever been. Maybe that's why it hit so hard to remember what I'm capable of."

"You are also capable of maintaining this happiness. Even if it feels fleeting. I think we've proven we're not."

"But what if I can't handle their pain? I couldn't handle my own to the point where I ended up in Mayfield. The very idea of Rachel getting hurt makes me feel sick. You have to absorb your kid's pain as a parent."

"It's scary. The thought of anything happening to Rachel...I can't even go there for a second in my mind. But would you rather live without her?"

"No."

"Besides, you've been carrying my pain since you found out I was pregnant. When I was panicking, you didn't run, you didn't leave, you didn't relapse. You took it head on. You're being too hard on yourself."

House leans his head back on the couch cushion, which is how she knows he's done with the conversation. "Nice outfit," he quips, eyeing the dress she chose from his shopping spree.

"Turns out my boyfriend is an excellent personal shopper." She runs her fingers through his hair, rubs the back of his neck. "Just another of the many reasons I have no plans to ditch him."

He puts his head on her chest, nuzzling his scruff against her skin. "No leaving?"

"No leaving," she repeats.

6 Months

(murder at the lamaze class) 

"This is stupid," House complains, as he leans against the wall in the crowded hallway.

"We're doctors."

"So what?"

Cuddy has dragged him to a Saturday morning Lamaze class very much against his will. Despite his annoyance, he still lets her hold his hand as they wait to be let into the room. She hopes it isn't too much longer though because she silently worries what effect standing in line will have on his leg.

"So I don't need to go to a class taught by some hippie moron to help get you through the birth," House argues.

"Because you're an expert on breathing during childbirth now?"

"You really think I couldn't figure it out without this bullshit?"

Cuddy sighs. "I know you think we're better than everyone…"

"Because we are. Objectively speaking."

"I want to do normal pregnancy things with you. Is that so bad?"

"Did you just bat your eyelashes at me?"

"Maybe." She loves that it works on him. "It's not like I'm saying no to the drugs, because trust me, I'm not. I just want to know the breathing techniques too."

"You know Fernand Lamaze was a dick, right? He didn't like when women asked questions, or when they screamed during childbirth."

"If I had a problem with doctors with terrible bedside manner, you'd be unemployed."

"You're so annoying."

"I know. And since you're already annoyed, we're going to the mall with Rachel after this. We need to buy baby stuff sooner rather than later."

Cuddy saved tons of Rachel's stuff that she plans on reusing, but there's still a long list of items they need. She can't believe they're six months into the pregnancy with so little prepared.

"This day has been invented to torture me, Cuddy."

"Poor you," she mock pouts. "Your life is so hard."

"Did I hear you say you're doctors?" The man standing across from them asks. It startles them both, because they're in their own little world as usual. Cuddy has a terrible habit of tunnel vision when she's with House — it's so easy for her to forget that anyone else exists.

"You did," she confirms.

"My wife and I just moved here from Pennsylvania because I got a job in the oncology department at Princeton General. You don't happen to work there, do you?"

"No, but I'm familiar with it. I'm Lisa Cuddy. I'm the Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro."

"Logan Williams," he introduces himself. "So you probably know James Wilson then?"

"I do. Wilson is our closest friend."

"Wait a second. Lisa Cuddy? Dean of Medicine. Is this… is this Greg House?"

"Yes?" House answers for himself.

"Oh, wow. It's nice to meet you."

"How'd you know it was him?" Cuddy asks.

"It just clicked. Princeton Plainsboro, friends with Wilson, and you two are kind of famously dating. Then I saw the…" Cuddy watches Logan's gaze drop to House's leg. Her defenses go up immediately because he's being less than subtle about it. "I didn't know there was a baby on the way," he quickly tries to recover.

House doesn't react to the gawking — simply doles out his normal sarcasm. "I'm sure it will be in People Magazine next week. Since we're so famous and everything."

"Is this your first child?" Logan's wife asks. "We're first time parents."

Cuddy hates that Logan didn't bother to introduce her by name. She's sure that Wilson isn't really friends with this guy — they must know each other from the lecture circuit or conferences.

"We have a five year old daughter."

"So what are you doing here?" Logan teases, an attempt at humor. "Shouldn't you be an expert by now?"

"Not at this part," Cuddy says without explanation.

"What?"

House jumps in, defensive in his own right. "Ever heard of a little institution known as adoption?"

"Oh, yeah, of course."

It's awkward and tense and Cuddy doesn't know what else to say. Maybe she should make more of an effort— she could use more female friends, especially moms. But she has no interest in getting to know anyone married to someone who thinks House's leg is something worth staring at.

Thankfully, the instructor calls them into the room before it escalates any further.

—/—

House would rather be at the dentist getting his teeth pulled without anesthesia. Or be out to a never-ending brunch with Arlene and Julia Cuddy. Or be listening to Wilson talk about his conflicted feelings over his latest date.

Of course House knows the medical benefits of breathing through labor. He just wishes Cuddy would've let him research and teach her himself instead of wasting their time on a dumb class. But she wants to do normal pregnancy things, and she deserves to get what she wants for the next few months at least. He might be a jerk to most people, but not to his very pregnant and very anxious girlfriend. Which means he'll have to suck it up for an hour.

"I'd ask that all moms and their partners start out sitting on the birthing ball," the instructor says from the front of the room.

House looks at the ball he's supposed to sit on, which requires working leg muscles with enough strength for stability and balancing. "Well that's obviously not happening."

Cuddy furrows her brow as she realizes he physically can't do it. "There has to be a chair around here somewhere that you can use instead." She waves the instructor over. "Excuse me, is there a chair we can use?"

The young woman walks over to them in her tie dye shirt and leggings, apparently unmoved by their plight. "We really encourage dads to use the birthing balls in class as well. It helps develop a strong sense of teamwork and empathy."

"No," Cuddy answers coldly. "He needs to sit down."

The woman's eye line drops to the cane. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize he was..."

"So do you have a chair?" Cuddy interrupts. House is kind of curious what the end of the sentence was going to be.

"Unfortunately I don't. Maybe he could stand behind you or wait outside for this part?"

"Are you asking the father of my child to leave your class because you can't accommodate him? Have you ever heard of the ADA?"

It amazes House how fast Cuddy can turn on threatening hospital administrator mode. The instructor looks flustered and a little afraid. "I just meant whatever is more comfortable for him."

House wants to laugh because the woman is talking louder, as if he can't hear her. It's not an uncommon thing, but it pisses him off when people assume his mind is disabled because his body is. Normally he would tell her to go fuck herself, but he's trying hard not to make a scene for Cuddy's sake.

But he should've known better than to think Cuddy would tolerate it. She's perfectly capable of causing a scene all on her own. "Why the hell are you talking like that?"

"Like what?"

"Louder. Like he can't hear you. He's standing right here."

"Oh, no," the woman tries to backtrack. "I.. wasn't. Whatever you guys want to do is fine with me." And then she hurries back to the front of the room like a coward.

"Maybe we should go," Cuddy says, looking guilty, as if she's responsible for other people's ignorance. "Why should I pay for this if they aren't going to accommodate us?"

He desperately wanted an excuse to leave, but not this one. He won't let Cuddy miss out because of his leg. Not ever. "I don't even want to know how much you paid to learn how to breathe — but we're already here, and I can stand."

Cuddy seems unsure, but ultimately knows better than to tell him he can't do something.

As the class starts, House finds himself paying attention— mostly he's mentally comparing what the hippie bitch is saying to what he knows is scientifically true. Cuddy is so tiny and what her body is going to go through might be boring in its ordinariness, but it fascinates him nonetheless. He is fascinated by everything Cuddy does. He watches her breathe in and out and marvels for the millionth time since she got pregnant at her grace and strength.

After about twenty minutes, the instructor tells them to switch to the mat. Cuddy looks relieved until she realizes what House already knows. He is perfectly capable of sitting down on the floor, but he usually needs something to help him get there— a couch, a table, a chair, even a wall to lean on. It's difficult in the middle of the room with only his cane. Cuddy could normally help him, but her center of gravity has been off since she first fainted all those months ago.

"How are we going to do this?" Cuddy asks.

"Not well, I'm guessing."

"I'll go down first and help you?"

"I think we both know that going down first is my job."

She starts laughing a little too loudly, earning them dirty looks from the couple next to them. "Damn it, House."

"Your balance is screwed up because of that bump." He reminds her, determined to do what he needs to for her. "I can do it."

"But—"

He tries to lower himself slowly, but ends up dropping to the floor with a thud. He knows the whole class is staring at them. He ignores it, takes Cuddy's hand, and tries to help her down as gently as possible. Instead, he pulls her on top of him, wincing when the bone in her ass lands directly on his scar. "I'm so sorry," she says as soon as she makes contact.

"It's fine. I accepted a long time ago that your ass was going to be the death of me one day."

She quickly readjusts to sit in between his legs. His thigh aches, but he tries to focus on the sensation of her back against his chest.

"You're all doing wonderfully," the instructor says in between directions. "And it's just so inspirational to see couples of all... ages and abilities with us today."

Cuddy looks up at him. "Is she talking about us?"

"Considering we're old and half crippled, I'm going to go with yes."

"That is so condescending. We're not a charity case. We should leave."

"As much as I love a good storm out, there is no way we're getting back up when my leg still has your ass imprinted in it."

He knows that Cuddy is far too pissed to pay attention to the rest of the class. She's going to gain nothing from it because she's too busy quietly seething on his behalf. Cuddy expects a lot from him, and never lets him slack off at work or use his leg as an excuse. She's also his biggest defender. She takes every slight against him as one against her too.

When the class finally ends, Cuddy gets up first, leaning on his good leg for support. Once she's made it, she helps him by grabbing his hand and pulling him up. She drags him out of the room and into the corner behind the elevator. "I'm sorry— I feel terrible," she says. "I should've thought about the technicalities of this class for you."

"Don't." The last thing he wants her to do is apologize. "I like that you never think I can't do something. It's also very hot when you start threatening people for not accommodating me."

"Is that right?"

He answers her with a kiss, gently pushing her against the wall. It's undoubtedly a strange thing for an old, half-crippled couple to be doing. But he doesn't care. He feels a whole bunch of emotions he doesn't know how to otherwise express — gratitude chief among them.

"So what exactly happened to his leg?" They're interrupted by the sound of a voice from by the elevator, causing them to pull apart.

"It's called an infarction," Logan answers his wife. "Basically a blood clot in the muscle cut off oxygen. I have no idea why he wouldn't amputate."

"Prosthetics are amazing these days, aren't they?"

"Yeah, exactly. He doesn't have to be limping around like that. It's a choice at this point. It's not like they don't have the money for the best of what medicine has to offer. She's got to be making at least 400k, maybe more. I've heard he's an insurance liability so he comes cheaper, but he's still a legend in the medical community and a department head at a mid-sized hospital. With all that money it's selfish not to cut the leg off when you've got kids whose lives are going to be impacted…"

There's fury written all over Cuddy's face — she squirms out of House's arms and storms towards them. "Fuck you," she yells. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

House watches their eyes go wide, trying to figure out where she even came from.

"How dare you talk about his leg and my children."

House shrugs from behind her. "What can I say? She's very protective of my hard wood."

"Let me borrow the cane, House. I swear I'll beat him to death with it."

"I'm so sorry," Logan offers. "I shouldn't have…"

"Too late. I will ruin your career with a snap of my fingers and not lose an ounce of sleep over it. I know your boss. I know her boss. I know every member of the board of trustees at your inferior hospital. Good luck working in New Jersey after I bad mouth you all over the state."

"Cuddy." House puts his hand on her shoulder. "This asshole isn't worth your blood pressure spiking while the baby is trying to grow lungs in peace."

"He is an asshole!" Just then, the instructor enters the hallway, no idea what she's walking into. "And so is she, by the way. It's a limp. Have you really never seen one before? Where the hell did you get your license?"

The instructor looks up from her cell phone. Before she has the chance to react, the elevator doors open and House pulls Cuddy inside. "Well this has been a ton of fun," he says to the confused trio left behind. "But we're gonna go now. See ya."

Once they're alone, Cuddy is somehow pacing in the tiny elevator space. "Why does everyone have an opinion today?" She fumes.

She looks ridiculous, with her hand on her bump and every step she takes angrier than the last, but it's possibly the most in love with her he's ever been. "You are so cool."

"What?!"

"I'm going to buy you a pretzel at the mall."

"Forget the mall. We can go home."

"You said we need stuff, right? Let's get the stuff."

Cuddy's breathing relaxes a little. "Is your leg okay?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I want to get Rachel and take you to the mall."

"Alright." She grabs his hand, knowing he doesn't want to talk about what it feels like to be judged by strangers over something he can't control. She'll give him that peace because Cuddy understands him as well as she protects him. "A mall pretzel does sound good."

—/—

House is wandering aimlessly around a baby store while Cuddy goes through a detailed list of items to buy. For his part, he doesn't care what the baby wears or sleeps on or plays with. He trusts Cuddy with all of that. She's read ten thousand books on what's best, and she's also done this before. Since Rachel is the coolest kid ever, he figures Cuddy knows what she's doing and doesn't need his help.

He's flipping through a book about firefighting bears when he feels Rachel tug on his pant leg. "Dad." She looks up at him holding a stuffed dog. "Can I get this?"

"What?"

Even though they already established who he is to Rachel, it's the first time she's ever tried to get his attention using that term. His whole stomach flips in a way he hasn't experienced since he stood outside Cuddy's window longing to be with her.

"Mom said to ask you if I can get this."

"What did she say exactly?" House questions, wondering if it was Cuddy's idea to invoke the word.

"I said 'can I have this?' and she said 'go ask your dad'— so I did. Can I have it?"

She's lobbing him a softball by making his first solo parental decision about a fifteen dollar toy. "Yeah, sure."

"Thank you! What should I name him?"

"Why do you Cuddy women keep asking me to name things?"

"Spot?"

"Because it has spots? Come on. That is soooooo lazy."

"You're right." Rachel takes the criticism to heart. "I'll think of something better."

She runs off to look at more toys and House finds Cuddy a few feet away, sifting through a bunch of blankets. "Real subtle," he says. "Using your daughter to stroke my ego after you think it's been damaged."

"I used our daughter to stroke your ego," she corrects. "Did it work?"

"Much to my surprise, it did a little."

"I'm never worried about your giant ego, for the record. But there's nothing like a kid looking at you like you're their whole world— it makes no one else's opinion matter."

"The only opinions that matter to me are you, Rachel, and baby Liv."

Cuddy rolls her eyes when she realizes what he's said. "We are not naming our baby after a cartoon pirate from some stupid show. You can get that out of your head right now."

"It's just a placeholder until I come up with the real name." He grabs a bright yellow polka dotted blanket out of her hands. "This is really ugly. It looks like a traffic light. You want our baby to have road rage in the crib?"

"Show me what you like then?"

"I don't know what I like. I just know this one sucks."

"Okay." She holds up a lavender knit-blanket instead. "What about this?"

It looks soft and reminds him of how Cuddy smells. He nods, more invested than he thought. "Better."

—/—

House didn't lie. He doesn't care what anyone thinks about him or his leg. Not an under-qualified yoga instructor who got an online certificate to teach Lamaze. And definitely not a useless oncologist who works at Princeton General.

There's only one thing that bothers him. He knows he lived a selfish life for a long time. He treated Cuddy that way for years— he focused on his needs and pushed her away out of fear when he was well aware it was hurting her. Even at the start of their relationship, it took him a while to re-calibrate his instinct to always put himself first. He's gotten much better at thinking through how his actions impact Cuddy. He's proud that after almost two years, he can even anticipate her needs.

And despite his past, House never wants to be a selfish parent — he's all too familiar with what it can do to a kid— how unwanted and unsure it can make them feel. He knows because he lived it. That's why he plays with Rachel whenever she asks, even when he'd rather be left alone with a scotch and a soap opera.

It's two in the morning and instead of sleeping House is staring at the ceiling obsessing over how his leg factors into all of it. He never thought of it as something that might make him selfish, but now he can't get the idea out of his head.

Cuddy stirs next to him and wakes up for the third time that night. "Sorry," she says trying to readjust her position. "I can't get comfortable."

"I was already awake."

"How come? Is it your leg?"

"Do you think that douchebag was right?" He answers her question with one of his own. "About the amputation thing?"

"Seriously?" Cuddy looks at him like he's lost his mind. "You think I threatened him because I agree?"

"You're saying you've never thought about if I'd be better off amputating this thing?"

Cuddy considers the question seriously, which he appreciates. She never tells him what he wants to hear just for the sake of it. "I guess it's crossed my mind when you're sweating through your clothes because it hurts so much and there's nothing I can do to help," she admits. "But that's just an emotional reaction to seeing the person I love in pain. It doesn't come from a logical place. Do I think amputating would be the right decision for you at this point? No, I don't."

She's not lying. He can always tell. "Why not? There have been a lot of advances."

"I don't have to tell you that amputation has its own complications no matter how great prosthetics are these days. You'd need pain meds so we'd be risking your sobriety. There's a lot of physical therapy that comes after. It's an incredibly emotional process. And I don't think you want it. I know your leg still hurts like hell, but you seem to be doing okay compared to five years ago. If you wanted to amputate, I'd be on board, and we'd get through it."

"I don't want it," he reaffirms. "The whole point is maybe that's selfish."

"You're not selfish for not cutting your leg off. That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard. You're in pain right now because today you did everything I wanted to do with no regard for what it would do to your leg. You made that choice because you wanted to do something for me. That's the opposite of selfish."

"There's going to be stuff I can't do for Rachel and the baby."

"I honestly can't think of one thing Rachel has ever wanted to do with you that you couldn't."

House struggles to think of an example himself, but as the Lamaze class proved, it's always a lingering possibility. "Maybe not yet, but there will be."

"Fine. They can learn to kick a ball from someone else. That's not important. You can teach them so many things that no other father could. How many kids have a genius for a parent? Who they can learn music, languages, and medicine from?

He's considering the response, and how there may be some truth to it, but he's distracted by the way Cuddy keeps fidgeting. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. The reflux is bothering me tonight, but it's not so bad."

"You probably aggravated it when you almost slaughtered three people in public today. We were so close to becoming an episode of Dateline."

"Murder at the Lamaze class?"

"Good one," he approves. "You should sleep on your left side — it's better for reflux."

"I know," she turns over to the left, her back facing him. "It's hard to stay in this position though. I always end up turning around in my sleep."

House spoons up behind her, wraps his arms around her, rests his chin on her shoulder. "I can keep you here."

She exhales at the contact. House rests his hand on her bump and they let a few minutes go by simply enjoying the feel of each other.

"House," Cuddy says, interrupting the stillness. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way or think I'm making a direct comparison, because I know your situation is worse and permanent. But I think the best part of me going through a harder pregnancy is that it's helped me to understand what you deal with a little better."

"What do you mean?"

"You wake up with no control over what your body is going to feel that day and I don't think I ever realized how frustrating that is. You have to think through how so many small things will impact you. Some days you're actively fighting against your own body just to make it function. It hasn't been fun, but I don't regret learning what it's like."

It means a lot that she gets it, but he also doesn't want her to ever change the way she treats him. "As long as you don't start pitying me."

"Never. I fully expect you to get your ass up tomorrow and help me put together all the stuff we got for the nursery."

"I take it back," he jokes. "Please treat me like the cripple I am."

"Nice try," she answers, before putting her hands over his. "This is really comfortable. I know you're a back sleeper but we should do this more often."

He lets the truth slip out. "I don't usually do this because I don't want my scar pressed against you."

"What?" She tries to turn to face him.

"Nope," he holds her in place. "Can't let you move. It's bad for acid reflux."

"You can't be serious. You know how much time we spend together naked, right? I know exactly what your leg feels like."

"When we're having sex I'm confident you're focused on feeling other things. When you're trying to sleep I don't want it to bother you."

"It doesn't bother me. When is it going to sink in that I want your bad leg pressed against me for the rest of my life?"

House is trying to process the magnitude of that statement, but he gets distracted by the feeling of distinct pressure hitting the palm of his hand. "She kicked."

"Good. She's taking my side."

"She's still in the womb and you're already ganging up on me?"

"Yes. So believe her, if you don't want to believe me."

The craziest thing is that House does believe Cuddy. For maybe the first time in their entire relationship he believes without a shadow of a doubt she needs him as much as he needs her, that she's not going anywhere, that he's safe with people who love him.

"Stop kicking and go to sleep, Liv."

"That's not her name, House."


	3. Third Trimester

7 months

(may 17th) 

House sits on the chair in his office, his feet resting on the ottoman, with Rachel on the floor below him. He tosses his ball from hand to hand as he stares at his white board and tries to visualize the missing piece of the puzzle.

"Maybe it's his tummy," Rachel says, trying to help. She has a bunch of half-days of school this week for some reason that House already forgot, and he volunteered to hang out with her for the afternoon. He didn't anticipate having a patient, and had planned to ditch work. Luckily Rachel never seems to mind spending time at the hospital, especially when it means she gets to play doctor.

"Nice try, but we already scoped him."

To anyone else conversing with a five-year old about diagnostic procedures would be ridiculous, but Rachel has caused him to have breakthroughs more than once before, so he's happy to indulge her.

"Scope?" She questions, the medical lingo going over her head.

"We shoved a camera down his throat."

Her eyes go wide as she visualizes his description. "That sounds... ouchies."

"Nah, he was asleep and didn't feel it," House throws the ball to her, impressed by her quick hand-eye coordination. "Nice catch, kid."

"Thanks. Maybe it's his back or his neck?"

"You just gonna name random body parts now?"

Rachel shrugs, but amazingly, an idea pops into his mind. "CNS involvement fits— maybe a spinal tap is the way to go."

"A what?"

"We stick a needle in his back so we can take out the fluid and see what's in it. Which actually is 'ouchies.' But it can tell us a lot and it's not the worst idea you've ever had."

House gets up and goes next door to give instructions to his team. When he returns and sits back down, he focuses solely on Rachel, and on something that he's been wanting to talk to her about for a few days. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yes," she nods enthusiastically. "What is it?"

"Can you keep a secret from your mom?" He clarifies.

"Oh," she considers the request. "I'm not supposed to."

"I think you can make a one time exception when it's for her own good. I have a surprise for her, and I want you to help me, but only if you can keep your mouth shut."

"I wanna help."

"Then you have to be sure you won't blow it for me."

"I'm sure."

"Do you swear on Nessa's life?"

"Yes."

"And Liv?"

"Pirate Liv or baby Liv?"

"Both of them."

"I swear."

"Good. Then tomorrow after school you'll come with me to pick out your mom's present. When she asks where we went, you have to say we were at the park."

"Okay."

"So where are we going tomorrow after school?" House tests her.

"The park."

House clears his throat to do his best imitation of Cuddy. "Which park did House take you to, honey?"

Rachel laughs at his high-pitched impression. "The one right by school with the yellow slide."

"Nice attention to detail."

"Why does mom get a present? It's not her birthday."

"Do you know what an anniversary is?"

"No."

"On Thursday it will be two years since your mom and I started dating."

In a way it feels like two years have flown by, but at the same time, the years Before Cuddy — with all their darkness, loneliness, and pain — feel like a distant memory. He's not one to be overly sappy, and neither is Cuddy for that matter, but he could never ignore the day his whole life changed for the better.

"Mom said you kissed in college," Rachel tells him, looking skeptical at his claim. "That wasn't two years ago."

House had no idea she was aware of any part of their history, especially the G-rated version of their night in Michigan, but he finds it incredibly amusing. "She told you that?"

"She said she liked you since a long, long time ago. Like a million years ago in school."

"I'm going to ignore your reference to how old we are and confirm that we did kiss in college. Then I got kicked out of school so I had to leave."

"You left after you kissed her?! That's so mean. She probably thought you didn't like her back."

"I didn't want to leave. I had to. Hence, kicked out."

"You got in trouble?"

"I did."

"How come?"

"Because I wasn't good at following rules."

"You're still no good at that."

"True."

House is considering whether one of the rules he's not good at following is the unspoken one where parents lie to their children to avoid setting a bad example — before he can decide, he gets distracted by the sound of Cuddy's heels walking down the hallway towards his office. "Knock knock," she says a few seconds later from the doorway, saving him from further explanation.

"Who is it?" House asks in a sing-song voice.

"Rachel's mom."

"Hmm. What's the password, Rachel's mom?"

"Password? How about — this is my hospital and I'm coming in."

"We were actually looking for farts spelled with a z."

"Of course you were," Cuddy plops down on the chair with him. "Hi."

"Hey," he says, adoring the mere sight of her. "You look pretty."

"I definitely don't. I'm so sweaty. I even asked maintenance to turn the AC up."

But Rachel takes House's side. "You do look pretty, mama."

"Thank you, baby. I swear today is going so slow. I can't believe it's only 1:30. Any chance you're in the mood to run away together?"

"Sure," House plays along. "Where to?"

"How about a seaside cottage in Ireland? People in movies are always doing that."

"There're only 1,948 Jews in the whole country, Cuddy."

"Why on earth do you know that exact number?"

"I'm looking out for you and your people."

"What about Scotland? I'm guessing there's also not a large Jewish population, but at least I'd get to see you in a kilt."

"But then you'd have to spend all your time fighting off the ladies fawning over me."

"I could take them."

"I'm sure you could, but that's not very relaxing, which is the whole point of running away together."

"True," Cuddy concedes. "I guess we should probably stay here then."

"I can offer you an exotic trip to the cafeteria for lunch while my team does a spinal tap."

"That sounds good. I'm cranky and craving everything."

"Everything? Like what?"

"Pistachio ice cream in a waffle cone. Turkey on rye toast with mustard and pickles. Really salty chips and salsa. Sweet potato fries."

"I think they have regular fries today."

"Close enough."

"Someone should invent a service that delivers all the garbage pregnant women crave on demand."

"That service is usually provided by the father, House."

"But what about fathers who work at the very hospital where the mom is the boss and will definitely yell at them if they let a patient croak while they go find sweet potato fries?"

"Sucks to be them."

"I'll say."

"Wait a minute," Cuddy processes his earlier statement. "What's the spinal tap for?"

Rachel speaks up, answering for him. "He's gotta get the back fluid so he can figure out what's wrong."

"I'm not even a little surprised that she's fluent in medical procedures before she knows how to do multiplication."

"I can teach her multiplication this weekend, if you want."

Rachel stands up, approaches them, and gently puts her hand on Cuddy's stomach. "Hi Liv," she says in a loud whisper.

"Rachel, you know that's not really her name, right?"

"I know, but House didn't pick her real name yet, so I'm going to call her that until he does."

"That's fine, but I don't want you to be disappointed when we call her something else."

Rachel pats the baby bump confidently. "I won't be."

—/—

On the afternoon of their anniversary Cuddy sneaks home on her lunch break because she has this brilliant plan to surprise House by moving the rest of his stuff out of his apartment. Moving is stressful enough for people without chronic pain and she doesn't want him to have to think about Mayfield again. It's also in her nature to want things settled— she wants to know they're ready for the baby— and being ready means that House is fully with them, furniture and all.

She's typing out one last email on her phone with detailed instructions, even though the moving company has assured her multiple times that they know what they're doing. She's just so paranoid about the damn piano because if anything happens to it House will kill her and her great idea will blow up in her face.

"Mama," Rachel appears by her side, grabbing her free hand. "I wanna play outside."

"Give me one second, sweetheart."

"No, we have to go outside now."

"Why?" Cuddy asks suspiciously, because it's out of character for Rachel to be so demanding. "What's outside?"

"I gotta take you outside!"

"Okay," Cuddy puts down her phone after finishing the email. Then, much to her surprise, she hears the sound of the ice cream truck pulling onto their block, which Rachel must've heard first. "Oh— you want ice cream?"

"Yes."

"It's a little early in the year for the ice cream truck. It usually doesn't show up until late June."

"Who cares? It's here now. Let's go!"

Cuddy allows her daughter to drag her out the front door and the two of them approach the truck, with its unmistakable music and flashing lights. "Hi," she greets the man inside.

"Are you Lisa Cuddy?" He asks her.

"Yes? How did you know that?"

"Because this is for you."

He hands her a menu — the top reads happy anniversary to my hangry baby mama. On it is every ridiculous item she's been craving lately. The pistachio ice cream. The turkey on rye. The sweet potato fries. She bursts out laughing and then turns to a grinning Rachel, whose behavior suddenly makes a lot more sense. "You knew about this?"

"I helped! It's your 'versary."

"It is," she confirms, looking back at the man in the truck. "Is this menu real?"

"Yeah, I have all of it. You can pick out what you want now but I'm also supposed to unload the rest of it in your kitchen."

"Of course. I guess we'll take the ice cream now."

"Sure thing," he says, scooping out the pistachio and then handing her two waffle cones. "I mean this in the nicest way possible, but your husband is a little insane."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that."

She doesn't bother to correct the assumption because she's not mad that House is exuding husband energy. If she's honest with herself, Cuddy thinks about marriage all the time. It's the last piece of the puzzle, really. It's also the one subject she won't ever broach with him, as much as she may want to.

The logical side of her knows there's simply too much going on for them right now to throw marriage into the mix. House has adjusted so well to the most unexpected news, and she's not going to push her luck by expecting anything more.

She has everything she wants anyway. They're having a baby. Rachel calls him dad. By the end of the day all of his stuff will be under her roof. It'll be their roof. She doesn't need a ring on her finger to know how much House loves them—to know that he'd do anything for them. He shows them in so many ways. He's always been a man of action anyway.

Still.

That doesn't mean her romantic side can't dream.

—/—

House purposely gets home late that night, because it's all part of his anniversary plan. Cuddy thinks he was stuck at the hospital working his case, but he spent most of the evening preparing. He thought he would be nervous, considering the gravity of it all, but instead he feels a strange sense of calm settling inside of him.

He walks in the house and notices the way Cuddy has rearranged the living room to include a bunch of his furniture and books. He's not surprised, but it's a soothing sight nonetheless— concrete proof of how their individual lives have merged without either of them losing their identities.

"You moved the rest of my stuff."

"I did," Cuddy confirms from the couch. "But you knew that already because you hacked into my email so you would know where to send the ice cream truck."

"I didn't mean to spoil your surprise," he admits, feeling a bit bad about it. "And it doesn't make you doing this any less awesome."

"Yeah?" She asks, sounding uncertain.

He nods, glancing towards the corner of the living room, which is now occupied by his favorite instrument. "The piano looks good."

"That spot was just my first thought, we can move it to wherever you want."

"I like it there. You have good taste — as evidenced by the fact that you've been dating me for two years and in love with me for a million before that."

"A million, huh?"

"That's the estimate Rachel gave me."

"You want to test out the piano? Play me something?"

Cuddy looks so tired, and he knows that she is. She worked all day and expended what little energy she had left on making this a home for him, too.

"Later." He walks over to the couch, leans down to kiss her, and then takes a blindfold out of his pocket and ties it around her head, covering her eyes so she can't see. "We have something else to do first."

"Not out here, House," Cuddy protests. "Rachel could wake up. Let's go to the bedroom."

"It's great that your mind goes right to dirty-town, but the blindfold isn't for what you think. It's for taking you to your present."

"What are you talking about? I already got my present."

"That wasn't your real present."

"You sending a truck personalized with all the food I've been craving wasn't my present?"

"Nope."

"It was a decoy present?"

"It was a clue."

"How could that be a clue? Did you buy a whole restaurant or something?"

"No— but that would've been cool. Maybe next year."

Just then, Rachel sneaks out of her room, her backpack secured on her back. "I'm ready!"

"What is Rachel doing up?" Cuddy asks when she hears her daughter's voice.

"She's coming with us. We can't just leave her here all alone while we go off galivanting on anniversary adventures. Geez— how bad is your pregnancy brain?"

"House— it's way too late at night for Rachel to be 'galivanting' anywhere."

"This is important and it won't take that long."

House doesn't claim importance too often because he knows that when he does Cuddy will listen. It goes back to that first morning when he asked her to turn off her phone so they could be together without interruption.

"Okay," Cuddy predictably relents. "Let's get whatever ridiculous antics you've got planned over with."

He grabs the car keys, loving that she assumes he's up to no good.

—/—

House carefully leads a blindfolded Cuddy through the building's hallway, with Rachel at his side.

"Why are we at your apartment?" Cuddy questions, picking up on their whereabouts.

"Can you see?" He checks to make sure the blindfold hasn't loosened. "You better not be cheating."

"I can't see anything, but I've been to your apartment enough times to know how long it takes to get here and what the hallway smells like."

"Impressive deduction skills. Want to join my team?"

"No, thanks. I don't enjoy digging up bodies. What are we doing here?"

"Your present is at my apartment."

"The apartment I had everything moved out of?"

"I did appreciate the irony of that."

"What if I moved my own present?"

"You didn't. Your present is in my pocket."

"Then why are we here?"

"Your lack of patience is astounding."

"You blind-folded a pregnant control freak in the middle of the night, what did you expect?"

"I expected you to act exactly like this, which only makes it more fun."

House opens the door to the apartment, which is now bare save for a few remaining items. Even though his furniture has only just made the official move, he genuinely can't remember the last time he spent the night away from Cuddy. On the rare occasion that he does, it's only because he's working a case. Staying at the hospital overnight used to mean he had a puzzle to distract him from the empty space inside of him. Now it means he doesn't get to fall asleep in Cuddy's arms, a feeling he's become accustomed to.

He leads her through the living room, into the bathroom, and positions her against the door— the exact same place she stood two years ago. Then he steps back, carefully lowers himself to the ground, and silently instructs Rachel to come stand next to him.

"Okay," he says from his spot on the floor. "You can take off the blindfold."

She does, rustling her hair in the process. House thinks it's perfect, considering the messes they were on the night he's trying to recapture.

"House? What are you doing?"

"Recreating the most pivotal moment of my life," he explains. "Except without the Vicodin, and with the added bonus of a rugrat."

"I love you," Cuddy says, like she can't hold it in. "Somehow even more than I did two years ago, which is so crazy because..."

"Hey" he interrupts. "I know you did most of the talking that night, but I'm going to need you to shut up, because it's my turn."

"Sorry," Cuddy smirks. "Go ahead."

But he's quiet for a minute, trying to organize the words he's practiced as they jumble around his mind.

"You okay?"

"I've been thinking a lot recently about how my life has revolved around decisions made by you."

"Oh?"

"And that's not a complaint. You decided to hire me when no one else would. You decided to let me be myself—to let me work how I work, even when it puts your job at risk, and when no one else understands it."

"So many lives have been saved because of how you work."

"You decided to become a mom, which scared the hell out of me at the time, because I was still being a selfish jerk, but it turns out I'm crazy about this kid who bosses me around as much as you do."

Rachel perks up at the reference to her, mesmerized by the interaction between her parents.

"And then," House continues, "then you decided to come here and fight for us at the exact moment I was ready to give up. Everything good that's ever happened to me is because you decided to do something courageous."

"The funny thing about that is you're the one who makes me courageous. You've taught me so much about not hesitating to jump."

"I need you to make another decision. And it's an important one."

"Okay?"

"Except I figured it was time for you to stop doing all the heavy-lifting in this relationship, and for me to go after what I want."

"What do you want?"

House reaches into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulls out a small black box, and opens it to reveal a ring. "To marry you."

Cuddy is speechless— a true rarity. He watches her chest rise and fall as she realizes what he's asking. "I... never thought you'd do this," she finally manages to get out. "Especially not now."

"I think it's good I can still surprise you."

"I hope you don't feel pressured by the baby."

"You think I'm scared of Arlene with a shotgun?"

"I'm just checking."

Even now, she's trying to take care of him— but House is more than happy to quell her concern.

"The baby has to do with it, but not because I feel pressured. I feel like we've gotten a lot closer lately. Which, I dunno, at some point we should probably stop or we're just going to turn into one — albeit very awesome and very hot— person."

"I feel it, too. These last few months...everything we've been through and had to talk about…it made you ready?"

"It was never about being ready, Cuddy. I knew it that first morning, in this bathtub. I had your hand in mine and I was playing with your ring finger thinking about this. But doing it now feels... right. And I know that I want it. Do you?"

"You have no idea how much," Cuddy says. "I've known for a long time that this is it. I want to be able to call you my husband more than anything."

"Mama," Rachel whines, growing bored with their conversation, and wanting to get to the action she was promised. "Say yes."

"Good to know you're about as patient as your mom," House quips.

"I am saying yes, Rachel."

The one syllable hits him, and he extends his hand to her. "You know how this part goes."

Cuddy helps him up and he kisses her gently, then pulls away to slide the ring onto her finger. "This ring," Cuddy marvels at the single 3 carat diamond and elegant gold band, "is unreal."

"Oh, it's very real." House turns around. "Rachel, your backpack?"

Rachel takes her bag off her shoulder and unzips it, pulling out a bottle that she needs to hold with two hands.

"My daughter has been walking around carrying a bottle of champagne!?"

"You're pregnant and she's five. I'm not that irresponsible. It's sparkling cider." But then House leans down to pull a sword out of the bathtub. "I am a little irresponsible though."

"Oh my god," Cuddy laughs. "Of course."

"We need to celebrate in accordance with House family tradition."

"Whoa," Rachel gasps at the sight of it. "Where did you get a sword?"

"I bought it."

"How come?"

"Because," Cuddy answers. "Your dad is a wonderful lunatic."

"Why don't you go get the glasses from the kitchen, kid? Remember where I showed you?"

Rachel nods and runs off, giving them a second alone.

"Go to see we're sticking with all life-changing conversations in the bathroom."

"House family tradition," he repeats.

She steps closer to hold him and pulls him in for a hug. "I told you it was going to be great."

—/—

Cuddy's adrenaline is still pumping in the car on the way home. When House said he had another surprise for her, she assumed it was something ridiculous and obnoxious like fireworks or a five foot tall cake. An engagement was the last thing she would've ever guessed, even though it's the thing she wanted most.

"How was the ice cream truck a clue?" She ponders out loud as House drives, and Rachel sleeps in her car seat.

"He called me your husband, did he not?"

"You made him say that?"

"I was planting the seed."

"You're...something else."

"Yeah— and now you're stuck with me for life."

She has genuine butterflies in her stomach at the mere idea of it. "I think Lisa House has a nice ring to it."

"Wait— you're not changing your name, are you?"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because you're Cuddy."

"Exactly— you use Cuddy as my first name, so it's not like I'm in any danger of ever losing my identity. It'll probably be too confusing to use 'House' at work, but I don't see why I shouldn't change it everywhere else."

"You changing your name at work would be the best part!" He objects. "Dr. House — Dean of Medicine."

"At work I can hyphenate."

"Will you at least put the House part on your door?"

"Definitely."

"That is going to piss off so many people. Hourani. Nurse Jeffrey. Kaufman."

"I'm glad we've already gotten to the petty benefits of this engagement."

Behind them, Rachel stirs for a second, but doesn't wake up. "Can I ask why you brought her with us? I love that you did, I'm just surprised you didn't get a sitter."

"Because I know you," House explains. "And when you tell this story in the future you're going to say the baby was there when we got engaged."

"True."

"You also specifically told me that you want Rachel and the baby to be the same, so it felt unfair to leave her out."

Cuddy literally loses her breath for a second — there are people who don't believe House is capable of such a selfless thought process, but she knows better. When House uses his ability to read people and applies it to the ones he loves, he's unstoppable.

"You know," she says, a bit teary-eyed. "Rachel House doesn't sound too bad, either."

He turns to her, shocked. "Seriously?"

"Would that be okay?

"Am I okay with getting credit for Rachel when you did all the work for the first two years of her life? Uh, yeah."

"Good."

"Arlene is going to hate that."

"Probably."

"Wilson on the other hand will be fangirling."

"Speaking of Wilson, can you stop by his place on the way home? I want to show him the ring."

"You think Wilson hasn't seen the ring? Wilson and Rachel were with me when I picked it out."

"They were? That's sweet."

"No, it was practical. I needed a woman's opinion. The best I could do was combine Wilson and a kindergartner."

"Well he may have seen it, but he hasn't seen it on me."

"He can see it on you tomorrow. We have a once in a lifetime opportunity to have combination engagement and anniversary sex and we are cutting it dangerously close to midnight."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have proposed so late at night."

"What part of recreating the moment do you not get?"

"Don't worry, Wilson and I won't talk for long."

"Wow, that's the first lie you told as my fiancée."

But House makes the turn anyway.

—/—

Wilson is already waiting for them in the parking lot of his apartment building by the time they pull in. Cuddy gets out of the car and hugs him. House watches his two best friends embrace in celebration and as much as he complained about the detour, it's a cool thing to witness.

"So when's the wedding?" Wilson asks when they pull apart.

"After I push this small human out of my body," Cuddy says. "I waited 40 years to get married, I'd like to at least fit into a dress."

"That sounds fair."

"You're coming dress shopping with me, by the way. You're the closest thing I'll have to a maid of honor."

"What the hell?" House says from the car. "You can't steal my best man."

"I'm the bride. I can do whatever I want."

"Then two can play that game. I'll make Rachel my best man."

"Good," Cuddy says, unfazed. "I hope you enjoy your princess themed bachelor party."

"Cuddy. You have a sister. I know you were her maid of honor. I've seen the horrible pictures. Aren't you supposed to return the favor?"

"Are you saying you want Julia involved with this wedding?"

"No, but—"

"I can't bring Julia dress shopping, you know what would happen."

"What would happen?" Wilson asks, hesitantly wading in.

"Arlene would find out, show up, and call Cuddy a slut," House says.

Cuddy nods. "Wilson on the other hand will be nice to me and he knows you. He's the only option."

Wilson sighs. "So what I'm hearing is that I'm going to be pulling double duty and doing everything for both of you?"

"Probably," Cuddy agrees. "But I promise it won't be so bad. I don't want a big wedding."

"You don't?" House is relieved to hear.

"Not at all. The obligation invitations would never end. I don't want Sanford Wells and the whole board watching us get married. I don't want people there who aren't really part of our lives."

He beams at her with pride and then turns to Wilson. "Did I not find the perfect woman?"

"Don't even start that with me, House. I'm the one who told you she was perfect for you years ago."

"You did," Cuddy remembers. "You could always see it. You were the first person who had faith in us. Who thought we could wind up here."

"Only in my wildest dreams did you end up husband and wife," Wilson says. "Wow, I just realized how insufferable you two are going to be when you can use those terms."

"Hey!" Cuddy feigns offense.

"Do you not remember the first two months of you two dating? Obsessively calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend?"

"If you're gonna insult us, we're gonna leave," House says impatiently. "Let's go, Cuddy."

Wilson opens the car door for her, helps her in, then leans in through the window. "I'm proud of you, House."

He knows that Wilson means it, and if he's honest, he's proud of himself too. Of course he would never admit that out loud. "Move before I run over your foot," he says instead.

Wilson kisses Cuddy on the cheek. "Goodnight, Mrs. House."

"See?!" Cuddy says, eyes glistening, and looking like she just won an argument. "It sounds so good."

8 months

(shades of gray) 

House and Cuddy sit on a bench on the fourth floor of the hospital, right outside Dr. McArthur's office.

"She still has time to turn," House says, trying to be encouraging. They just had their most recent check up, and learned that the baby is breech.

"She's not going to turn," Cuddy answers flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because my amniotic fluid is on the low side."

"We're going to do the amnioinfusion."

"Then because it's us, and nothing can ever go smoothly."

All the anxiety she thought she had put behind her is flooding her senses all over again. She feels her heart rate creeping back up and the tension in her muscles tightening.

House, sensing the start of a spiral, puts a hand on her knee. "I can't wait until she's born so I can go back to being the pessimist in this relationship."

"Never thought I'd say this, but I miss you being the pessimist, too."

"If you have to have a C-section, it'll be fine. There's no reason to think it wouldn't be. If you were treating yourself, you'd say there's nothing to worry about."

"Logically, I know that. But these last few weeks, in the engagement bubble, we've been so happy. I knew something was going to come along and burst it."

"I agree that the bubble isn't sustainable," he says. "But this? This isn't a 'bursting'— this is a simple medical fact that can be easily dealt with."

"I guess."

"You want to nervously twirl little, little Greg?" House offers, holding his cane out in front of her. "Get out some of that anxious energy?"

She briefly runs her fingers over the material, somehow it makes her feel as connected to him as his hand on her knee. "Thanks, but I don't have time. I have to get downstairs for lunch with Wilson and those potential oncology donors."

"You can be a few minutes late."

"It's always better when I'm distracted with work."

She stands up, but House grabs on to her hand, preventing her from walking away. "Cuddy."

"I promise I'm okay to go downstairs."

And because he can always tell the difference between her lies and her truth, he lets her go.

—/—

Cuddy gets through lunch and convinces the donors to give a substantial amount — more than she needed or expected them to give. She sits with Wilson as they debrief, reaching across the table to grab some hash browns off his plate.

"So it's true," Wilson teases as he watches her. "Couples who spend too much time together do start to look alike."

"Sorry, that was very House of me."

"Have at it," he pushes his plate closer to her. "How was the appointment this morning?"

"She's breech."

"Of course she is. You didn't expect House's child to be facing the right way, did you?"

It makes her laugh, even though she doesn't find the situation funny. "I hadn't thought of it like that, but you make a good point."

"You okay?"

"A little stressed. Everything has felt too good to be true lately. I'm not even sure people are meant to be as happy as we've been. So now it feels like this will be the thing that messes it all up."

"It won't be. We both know House is going to make sure your baby gets into this world safe and sound."

"You're right," she says, hoping that stating it out loud will make it so.

"Are you still seeing Nolan?"

"Once a week. He helps. I do know that House and I both expect the worst even when it's not likely to materialize."

"You're not used to having good news. It's an adjustment. It's okay to still be scared. The difference is now you're not letting that stop you from enjoying life."

"We're trying at least. House working to convince me to be less worried about things going wrong is so weird. He's obviously right about the medicine, and I know it comes from a place of pure reason, but it's still a sight to behold."

"And only you could manage to bring that out of him."

Just then, Taub approaches their table, looking nervous. "Dr. Cuddy. We need you upstairs."

"Alright," she glances up at him, not in any real hurry. "We're almost done here."

"We really need you now."

"Oh, god," she sits back and sighs. "What's broken? Or worse, who's dead?"

"No one's dead."

"Do I need a lawyer?"

"No."

Cuddy will kill House — but not be surprised, or even blame him for that matter — if he took his own nervous energy about their appointment and turned it into workplace chaos that she'll need to clean up. She gets up from the table, knowing she has no choice but to deal with whatever it is.

"I'm coming with," Wilson says, standing up to follow her. "This sounds too good not to see for myself."

The three of them make their way upstairs, and when they approach House's office, Cuddy is instantly on high alert. "Why the hell are all the blinds closed?"

Taub doesn't answer, so Cuddy picks up her pace. She storms into the room, ready for an old-fashioned fight with House, to scold the man she loves as a reckless employee.

Instead, she almost slams directly into her sister. "Julia!?"

"Hey, sis. Welcome to your baby shower."

"What?!"

Cuddy looks around at the room. It's not decorated in typical baby-shower fashion— but it is decorated. There's a diaper cake in the shape of a motorcycle, tiny baby scrubs, cupcakes with stethoscope fondant on the top.

"House and I fought over this for weeks," Julia tells her. "He said you wouldn't want a 'stupid baby shower' with people you 'don't even like' when you 'have enough money to buy whatever you want.'"

"You're welcome," House says, perched on his desk.

"But I said I'm throwing my sister a shower, whether she wants one or not. Eventually we compromised and he let me use his office."

"The timing worked out well," House adds. "For distraction purposes, that is."

Cuddy can't imagine how he felt this morning, knowing that this was planned, and having to worry that she was going to lose it on a day he wanted to be light and fun. The timing of her lunch with Wilson, and the donors he found out of seemingly nowhere, now also make sense.

"It's perfect," she says. "I love it."

"Have I ever mentioned how weird you two are?" Julia jokes.

Happiness seeps through again, just when Cuddy thought it was all down to more stress. She's learning to find moments of joy within the chaos. Somehow it's a lesson she's learned from House and his philosophy that even the most miserable days are still worth living through.

It's a small group— her sister (not Arlene, who would never understand any of this), Wilson, House's team, her assistant, and a few of the nurses and doctors she's closest with. Less than fifteen in total. She lets herself enjoy it. The food, the small talk, and the presents, which range from practical to ridiculous.

"That's from the whole team," Thirteen tells her, as she opens one.

It's a soft, light pink onesie— adorable, but maybe not what she would've expected from them. Until Thirteen clarifies. "That's the back. You have to turn it over."

On the front, in big white lettering, it reads: I wasn't lupus.

Cuddy bursts out laughing. House groans, drops his face into his hands. "You told them?!"

"No!" Cuddy defends. "I thought only Wilson knew!"

Wilson shrugs. "I might've mentioned it to Chase."

"It's the best story ever," Thirteen says. "It's strangely comforting to know that even the great Dr. House has a ginormous blind spot when it comes to the woman he loves. It really humanizes him."

Cuddy understands what Thirteen is getting at. She doesn't feel like a blind spot though. In fact, she feels more loved than ever before.

—/—

On Saturday afternoon Cuddy is home alone, with several piles of laundry sprawled out in front of her on the living room floor, when her cell phone rings. She internally cringes at the thought of her day being interrupted by something at the hospital, but relaxes a little when she sees Wilson's name on the screen.

"Hi, Wilson."

"I'm sorry!"

"For what?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"What could you have possibly done?" She's confused not only by what he's saying, but by the rushed tone of his voice. "Wait— are you with House at the hospital?"

"No. I accidentally…"

His explanation is interrupted by a loud knock on the door. "Hold on," she says, getting up from the couch. "Someone's here."

"I know. And I'm really sorry."

Cuddy doesn't understand what the hell he's talking about until she opens the door. "Oh." She recognizes the woman standing in front of her, even though she hasn't laid eyes on her in years. She hangs up on Wilson, puts down the phone, and tries to compose herself. "Hi."

Blythe House looks down, directly at Cuddy's baby bump. "That's… that's my grandchild, right?"

"Yes."

"Can I come in?"

"Of course."

Cuddy leads her inside, mortified by the state of her home. With Rachel at a playdate and House at work, she was planning on using this time to organize, and maybe get a bit more done in the nursery. There are still breakfast dishes in the sink. There are toys on the floor. She's wearing leggings, one of House's shirts, and no makeup. It's not the impression she would want to make on her future mother-in-law.

"I apologize for the mess," she says, trying to move laundry out of the way. "I'm guessing Wilson told you about the baby?"

"Not directly," Blythe explains. "He posted some pictures from what looked like a work baby shower on Facebook? He must've forgotten that we're friends on there. I thought I was seeing things for a minute. Was my son planning to tell me before you gave birth?"

Cuddy stops in her tracks, considers the question, which she probably should've asked him herself. "I... honestly don't know the answer to that."

"That's okay. I'm pretty sure I do."

It's not that Cuddy hasn't wanted to ask House about this, but it's the one subject she doesn't feel comfortable pushing him on. She knows enough about his childhood to understand that it's a sensitive topic — she's always believed any conversations about it have to happen on his terms.

"Can I get you coffee?" Cuddy offers, hoping to ease the tension. "Tea? Water?"

"Coffee would be great. Cream and sugar, if you have it."

Cuddy goes to the kitchen, but realizes she left her phone on the table near the front door, so she has no way to text House and warn him. He could be home any minute, depending on what's happening with his patient, and she has no clue what his reaction to their unexpected visitor will be.

She focuses on brewing the coffee, still flustered, momentarily forgetting where they even keep the sugar. She knows there are a million things she wants to ask and talk to Blythe about, but whether it's pregnancy brain or pure shock, she can't think of a single one.

Cuddy walks back into the living room with a cup of coffee, and places it down on the table in front of Blythe. When she goes to pull away, Blythe grabs her wrist, holding her in place, and staring at the giant ring on her finger. "You're engaged!?" She looks like she's about to start crying, which makes Cuddy feel guilty as hell. "When did this happen?"

"Last month. On our two-year anniversary."

Blythe releases her. "I'm going to have a daughter-in-law. And a grandchild."

"Granddaughter," Cuddy corrects, sitting down across from her.

"It's a girl?"

"Yes. And technically you'll have two granddaughters."

"Twins?!"

"No, no— I'm sorry. We have another daughter. Her name is Rachel."

"What… what do you mean?"

Cuddy realizes that her wording could imply that they already went through a pregnancy together, which given the last few minutes, Blythe would probably be inclined to believe. "I adopted Rachel when she was a newborn, as a single mom, before House and I were together. But the two of them are very close now. He's the only dad she's ever known and she completely adores him."

"So he has a fiancée, a daughter, and another one on the way? But this was all somehow not worthy of a single call home?"

"I don't think it's personal."

"How can you say that?"

Cuddy thinks back to her conversation with Wilson earlier that week. "Because I think he's really happy, and he's scared to do anything to jeopardize that."

"Why on earth would I jeopardize his happiness?"

"I'm not saying you would. But House and I….we both struggle with sharing good news because we're not used to having it. I don't think we know how to talk about it. I don't think he was hiding anything on purpose. I think he didn't know how to tell you."

"I see."

"I know that doesn't make it less hurtful. And I'm really sorry you had to find out on Facebook. You have every right to be mad."

Blythe nods, processing the apology. "I'd like the chance to get to know you. All I really know is that you're my son's boss, that you've kept him employed all these years, and that you're in almost all the stories Wilson has ever told me. But I don't really know you."

"I'd like to know you, too. House is so important to me, and I..."

Cuddy doesn't get to finish her thought, because the front door swings open, and House walks inside holding a giant u-shaped pillow "Look what I got you," he announces, his vision blocked by the gift, leaving him oblivious to who else is there. "One of those maternity pillows. They're supposed to help with circulation and…"

"House," Cuddy cuts him off, hoping he'll get a hint from her serious inflection.

It works. He puts the pillow down and then realizes exactly who is sitting on their couch. "Oh. Shit."

"That's a lovely greeting from my only child who hasn't seen me in years."

"Sorry. I'm just surprised. Wilson couldn't have warned me that he ratted us out?"

"Ratted you out?! I'm your mother."

"You could've at least called."

"Funny, I could say the same thing about you."

They're in a standoff. Cuddy watches the back and forth, mother and son equally determined; it's easy to see the resemblance between them.

"I only came home to drop this off," House says, changing the subject, and looking for an escape route. "I have to go pick Rachel up from her friend's house."

"Why don't you bring your mom with you?" Cuddy suggests. "She can meet Rachel and you two can catch up on the way there."

She's certain House hates the idea, but he won't say no to her, and it will give her the chance to change and clean up a little before they get back. Besides, he has no choice but to face this now. She figures sooner is better than later.

—/—

House has never been able to lie to his mom—- not the casual way Cuddy lies to Arlene. It's a big part of why he avoids her. Except this time he avoided her for so long that it became harder and harder to face her. It became impossible to pick up the phone and find the words to tell her that Cuddy is eight months pregnant, or that they're getting married. He hates that he left Cuddy to be bombarded by his cowardice, doesn't know what his damn problem is, or why it has to be so hard.

"I should've told you," he admits as he drives, his mom in the passenger seat.

"Why didn't you?"

"I don't even know."

"Your fiancée thinks you don't know how to share good news, because you're not used to having it."

"She didn't become Dean of Medicine by being an idiot."

"When is she due?"

"End of next month."

"She said you've been dating for two years?"

"Yeah. You knew that. Wilson told you, didn't he?"

"He mentioned you two were spending a lot of time together. I guess I didn't realize it was this serious. When did you first know you had feelings for her? As more than a friend and boss, I mean."

"Technically? At Michigan. We sort of had a thing there before I got expelled."

Blythe looks shocked by the revelation. "Really?"

"True story."

"Exactly how long have you been in love with this woman?"

House thinks there's no simple answer to that question, because sometimes he's sure he's loved Cuddy since the first second he saw her, but he also knows his love for her has deepened and matured in so many ways since then. He gives the only honest answer he can think of. "I can't remember what it's like to not be in love with her."

"And Rachel?"

"You'll see. She's a really great kid. Nothing like me."

"You were a great kid, too."

Maybe this is also why he avoids her. She means well, but it hurts him to hear. Because whether she knew about it or not, House wasn't treated like a great kid by his father.

He bites his tongue, because it's not worth rehashing now. It wouldn't do them any good, because it wouldn't change a thing.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, they arrive at Rachel's friend's house. They're playing together in the front yard, but when Rachel spots his car, she grabs her stuff and runs over.

"Hi!" She says, opening the door and hopping into the back. She gets herself situated in the car seat and buckles up. "Thanks for coming to get me."

"You have fun?"

"Yes, we painted for a little and then we played outside." She reaches into her bag, pulls out a piece of construction paper. "I made this."

"A true masterpiece," House takes the drawing of what he thinks are unicorns. "This is my mom, by the way."

"Your mom?" Rachel questions, looking perplexed. "Really?"

Blythe turns around and smiles at her. "Hi, Rachel."

"Hi. If you're House's mom, are you my grandma?"

"Yes, I suppose I am."

"Cool," Rachel decides, then turns back to House. "Is your dad coming, too?"

"Nope. He's dead."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. You didn't kill him."

"My mama's dad is dead too," Rachel casually tells Blythe. "He had a stroke. A stroke is when the blood gets blocked from going to your brain. You don't always die from one, but a lot of times you do."

"Oh yes," Blythe snarks. "She's clearly nothing like you."

—/—

"This thing is amazing," Cuddy says, comfortably wrapped around her new pillow that night. "You doing okay?"

"It's weird that she's here."

Blythe decided to stay over and head home early tomorrow. The four of them had a relatively nice evening together and got through dinner without much awkwardness, despite the rocky start to the visit.

"How was it with her when you picked up Rachel?" Cuddy asks.

"Fine."

"It's okay if you can't fully forgive her, you know."

"It's not that exactly."

"You always say the world is shades of gray, right?"

"Yeah."

"So this shade of gray is that you love her, even though you're still hurt."

House, for the first time, acknowledges that he is still hurt, even if he doesn't know what to do with that feeling. "I don't blame her for what my dad did."

"I know that. And I think it's admirable."

"Did you like her?"

"I did," Cuddy admits. "I'm not sure how I feel about her role in your childhood, but she was great with Rachel."

"She'll probably be a harmless grandmother. It's not like she has to make any important decisions, all she has to do is show up with presents and call on birthdays."

"Personally I'm in favor of our kids having a non-Arlene grandparent to balance things out. Especially one who called me pretty three times tonight."

"She might be old, but she's not blind."

"I'd like to spend more time with her, if it's okay with you. We don't need to be best friends, but I'd like to talk to her occasionally."

"Whatever you want."

"No," Cuddy shakes her head. "How much you want her around this family is your decision. I'll support whatever you want."

House appreciates her lack of pressure, but doesn't think he can make a decision tonight. His mind wanders back to Arlene, to the people that made Cuddy. "What was your parents' marriage like?" he asks. "I know what Arlene is like, and you talk about your dad, but you never really talk about them as a couple."

"It probably won't surprise you to learn that Arlene ran the show. I think they loved each other, but it was all a bit...robotic."

"What do you mean?"

"My mom was determined to marry a doctor. She met my dad, converted, and then took care of everything at home while he worked crazy hours. I don't think I ever saw them have any fun together. I definitely never saw them be affectionate."

Maybe it makes sense that Cuddy sought out someone like him, the exact opposite of boring and robotic.

"My dad would've liked you though," Cuddy adds.

"Really? Dads aren't usually my forte."

"He would've found your job fascinating. He would've loved talking to you about it. And, believe it or not, he would've understood your sense of humor."

"My dad would've hated you."

Cuddy laughs. "Gee, thanks."

"It's a compliment," House reminds her. "A Jewish career woman who adopted a kid on her own? And my boss, no less. He would've hated everything about you and this relationship. Almost makes me sad he didn't live long enough to be pissed off about it."

"Our marriage will be nothing like your parents' marriage, or mine."

He's confident she's right. They may not be perfect, but they have all the ingredients their parents lacked: respect and fun and genuine affection.

House thinks that even though the rest of the world still appears in shades of gray to him, loving her is black and white.

9 months

(get what you need) 

House almost didn't come to the appointment. With his patient getting worse, Cuddy insisted she would be okay to go to the check-up alone. It was supposed to be a simple matter of finding out if the baby made any progress turning, but House showed up anyway. Cuddy suspects maybe it's because he already knows the answer and wants to be at her side when she finds out. Either way, she's grateful that he's with her, because she has a gnawing gut feeling, maybe even a maternal instinct, that something is about to go wrong.

Brianna is quiet as she does the exam. House is quiet, too. Cuddy hates the quiet. She fills the emptiness with possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Finally, Brianna speaks. "The problem is your fluid is still low, which means the baby isn't going to be able to turn."

"So the infusion didn't work?" Cuddy asks, disappointed by the news.

"It worked in that it kept your baby healthy, but she still doesn't have enough room. I know you really wanted to do this, but I need to do what's safest for you and this baby."

"I want to do what's safest for the baby, too."

"I think we should go ahead with the C-section."

Cuddy already accepted it weeks ago, felt strongly that it was an inevitability. Still, she tried everything she could to make the baby turn: the pelvic tilt, inversion, acupuncture. House even tried to use music (if my kid is going to turn for anything, it'll be music, he said). But Cuddy knew in her heart that their child would be too stubborn. It's like Wilson said, how could she be anything else?

"When?" House asks, cutting to the bottom line.

"I think today would be best."

"Today?!" Cuddy sits up in shock. Of all the possibilities she prepared for, this wasn't one of them. "What are you talking about?!"

"I think the sooner, the better," Brianna says.

"She's right," House backs her up.

Cuddy feels a little ganged up on, and nowhere near emotionally or physically prepared for today to be the day. "Isn't it too early?"

"You know it's not," House says. "38 weeks isn't premature."

Obviously she does know that, has even told patients the very same thing, but she's grasping at straws trying to somehow change reality. Her hand unconsciously goes to her stomach, protective of her little girl.

"I have some scheduled deliveries before you so you have a few hours," Brianna briefly squeezes her shoulder for comfort. "I'm going to have Nurse Owens bring you to a room to get ready, but please page me directly if you need anything at all."

Everything sort of blurs for the next few minutes, Cuddy feels outside of her own body as they move to the next room. Nurse Owens tries to direct her, but House cuts in front, leading Cuddy himself. She's thinking through a million technicalities related to the procedure, like the last time she ate. Thankfully she only had yogurt for breakfast, so by the time they do the surgery, it will be more than eight hours since her last solid food.

"Just try to relax and get comfortable, Dr. Cuddy," Nurse Owens says before leaving. "I'll be back in a bit."

When the door closes, she frantically turns to House, grabbing him by the arm. "Relax?! She wants me to relax? How am I supposed to relax?"

"Because this is the right decision."

He's calm because he grounds himself in the science of it, but she's not there yet. "House," she says, voice cracking. "We're not ready. I'm not ready."

"We are. You are."

"I don't have any of my stuff."

"You've had your stuff packed in that bag for months. All we have to do is send someone to pick it up."

She tries to remember if she packed everything she'll need, and thinks about the last time she showered. "I… I didn't shave."

House smirks at her. "That's what you're worried about?"

She knows it sounds ridiculous, but when everything feels like it's spinning out of control, it's easier to focus on the little things she can do something about. "I was going to do it yesterday but I could hardly reach and you weren't home! You have to do it for me before I go in."

"You know they won't let you shave because of infection risks. They're supposed to clip."

"You're clipping. I don't want one of my nurses doing it. How am I supposed to sign their paychecks after that?"

"You sign my paychecks, but I know I'm the exception to all your rules."

"I'm just…I didn't plan to have a baby today."

"Well I didn't exactly plan to clip your pubic hair today."

The dry delivery makes Cuddy laugh despite her best efforts not to. "Please stop making jokes and being rational when I'm trying to have a breakdown. I thought we had at least three more weeks. I expected her to be late, if anything."

"You're freaking out because you're not in control right now. But you don't have a choice. We have to do this. You said you wouldn't feel okay until the baby was in your arms. Now, by tonight, you can feel okay."

The idea penetrates her irrationality. Cuddy has never been one to put things off, especially the things that scare or stress her out. Maybe this is the best thing that could happen — to get it over with and finally, finally be able to stop worrying.

"I wanted her to be late too," House adds. "I wanted you to get so impatient that you let me try to trigger labor with sex. Had it all planned out. Now I didn't even get to cherish the last time we had sex for what will be weeks and weeks and weeks."

"Sorry about that."

"It's fine. Are we surprised? Our spawn was always going to come into the world as dramatically as possible."

Suddenly, another thought crosses Cuddy's mind. "Our 'spawn' still doesn't have a name— another reason we're not ready."

But House is prepared for that, too. "She has a name."

"Really?" Cuddy softens. "What is it?"

"Olivia."

Cuddy sighs, and assumes he's still joking around. "For the last time, we're not naming our daughter after a cartoon pirate."

"And what's the profound meaning behind Rachel, exactly? An episode of Friends was playing in the background of her first night home?"

"That is so insulting. You know perfectly well I'm a Seinfeld girl."

"We won't call her Liv," House insists, and she realizes that he's completely serious. "We'll use the whole name. I know it started as a joke, but now every other name feels wrong to me."

"Damn it, House. This was your plan all along."

"I swear it wasn't."

"I don't believe you. I'm sure you had Rachel in on it, too."

"I did not. You asked me to pick the name, and this is the one I like."

She did want it to come from him, and the fact that it also means something to Rachel makes her consider it. "Olivia," she says out loud, testing how it sounds.

"A lot of people attribute the name to Shakespeare, because it was in Twelfth Night. But in Hebrew it means lioness, which you know our kid is going to be. Plus, I checked with Arlene and she said it's Jewish enough."

Clearly he's given thought to it way beyond the cartoon. "You called my mom?"

"I knew if she didn't give it the stamp of approval, she'd go back to trying to convert me. This is a lot easier."

"Olivia House," Cuddy says.

"Olivia Cuddy-House works, too. I don't think we ever decided."

"Rachel and Olivia House."

This time, when she says it, it's like she can see their future together — probably playing pirates in the backyard, laughing and covered in mud, but also loving and caring for each other like sisters should. "I think I love it."

"And I think we just had a life-changing conversation that wasn't in a bathroom."

"Somehow a hospital room isn't much better."

House scoffs. "What do you want from me? Candle lit dinners?"

"I love you," she says, overcome with emotion. "So much."

"Yeah, yeah," he teases back, which is simply another form of their love language. "I bet you say that to all your baby daddies."

"Only the ones who clip my pubic hair before a C-section."

House kisses her. "You should change, and I should go talk to my team."

"You're leaving me?!"

"Only for a minute. I have to tell them what's going on and send someone to get your stuff."

"Tell my assistant what's going on, too. I had a bunch of meetings this afternoon. Maybe I could call in while I'm wait…"

"Don't make me hide your phone," House warns. "Maternity leave starts now and that's what I'm telling your assistant."

"Fine." She lets go of his arm. "Just don't take too long, okay?"

"I won't."

—/—

The second House steps into the hallway, the façade comes crumbling down. His job is to keep Cuddy calm, because Olivia needs her to be, which means he has to pretend he's calm, too. In reality, House is equally freaked out and unprepared for this to happen today. He knew that the baby hadn't turned yet, but he wasn't expecting Dr. McArthur to make this call. The giant to-do list Cuddy gave him for the nursery is only half-finished. And worse, he didn't have time to mentally brace himself to see Cuddy - his Cuddy - under the knife.

He puts one foot in front of the other and makes his way to his office. He opens the door, walks towards the desk, and sits down in his chair. He knows that Dr. McArthur is actually being smart and overly cautious with this decision, because it lessens the risk for something to happen during a complicated delivery. If Cuddy were a stranger and a patient of his, he would mock her and her family for being worried about a procedure that happens hundreds of thousands of times a day. But Cuddy is Cuddy. His Cuddy. And he feels the weight of everything she's worried about for nine long months, and all the promises he made, heavy on his shoulders.

His team notices his return and joins him in the inner office. "House?" Chase tries to get his attention. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer, continues to stare straight ahead, attempting to shut out thoughts of Cuddy bleeding out on the table, of his baby being born without breath. All things he's seen before, which makes it all too easy to transfer the images.

"What's happening right now?" Foreman asks. "Why are you catatonic?"

Wilson walks in then, solving the mystery for them. "He's about to have a baby," he says, holding up his cell phone. "Cuddy texted me."

Thirteen tilts her head in confusion. "I thought she had a few weeks left?"

"Baby is breech," Wilson explains. "Plus low amniotic fluid, so they're doing a C-section today."

House wants to be left alone and his first instinct is to yell at them to get the hell out. All of them would listen, except for Wilson, and he would be ten times less overwhelmed. But for some godforsaken reason, Arlene's words from months ago echo in his mind. You two don't have to be an island, she said. Maybe now — in the middle of the chaos— is the time to stop trying to be.

"I need..." House starts, but the words momentarily get stuck in his throat, because they're so unfamiliar. "I need help."

The room goes silent.

"Okay," Chase tentatively answers. It's only because it's about Cuddy that they believe he might really be asking and not messing with them. "What can we do?"

House takes his keys off the desk and throws them to Chase who catches them. "Go get the packed duffle bag in Cuddy's closet and bring it back here."

"Sure."

"What else?" Thirteen asks.

"You're Rachel's favorite member of my team. She gets out at school at three. Can you pick her up and bring her to the hospital?"

"Of course. She's at Brye Park?"

"Yeah. Tell her you're picking her up because we're stuck at work. I want to be the one to tell her about the baby, so text me when you get here."

"You got it."

"Taub and Foreman —go talk to Cuddy's assistant, figure out what to do with her meetings for the rest of the day, and tell him to send all her calls to voicemail. Then I need all of you to keep the patient alive. We need that blood work. If it comes back positive for infection…"

Taub nods. "We know what to do."

"And keep your damn mouths shut. The only people that need to know this is happening are in this room. I don't want every nosey idiot in this hospital showing up outside Cuddy's door. This isn't a free show. We're not selling tickets."

They agree to keep it on the downlow and then scurry off on their assignments. Predictably, Wilson stays behind. "You sure you don't want me to get Rachel?"

He's likely confused about why he wasn't given something to do, but Wilson has perhaps the most important job of all. "I need you here."

"For what?"

"To make sure I don't fucking lose it."

"House— there's no reason to worry."

"I need them to be okay. Both of them. They have to be okay."

"They will be."

After all this time, it's still surreal. "I can't believe any of this is happening."

"You better start believing, because the next time you leave this hospital, you're going to have a baby."

"I also need to find a pair of sterile clippers."

"What? Why?"

"Cuddy doesn't want the nurses doing it."

"Doing wh—" Wilson starts to ask, and then understands. "I didn't need to know that."

"Just thinking out loud here."

"Let's go," Wilson pulls him up. "Time to go meet your next prodigy."

"Her name is Olivia."

—/—

Cuddy tries to tell herself that she's strong, but her body doesn't want to listen. She can't stop shaking as the nurses in the OR insert IVs and check her blood sugar. Hot tears stream down her face. She thinks of Olivia, and wants to be brave for her, but keeps imagining ways she might fail her instead.

"Lisa," Brianna says softly, "I know I took you by surprise today, but I really need you to calm down."

Having the baby at her own hospital was a mistake. She hates her employees seeing her like this. They're supposed to respect and fear her. She doesn't know how anyone in this room ever will again. Her muscles are trembling, and her teeth are chattering so much that she can barely swallow the antacid she needs to take. If she doesn't stop, they're going to sedate her. After 9 months of physical hell, she's not missing the birth of their child.

"Hey," House appears by her side after supervising her spinal anesthesia. "You know that tunnel vision thing you get with me?"

"You know about that?"

"Of course I do."

"Of course you do," she repeats.

"So look at me and block out everything else, including the fact that you're about to be sliced open."

"I don't want you to worry about me," Cuddy protests, because as much as she wants him next to her the whole time, she wants him completely focused on the birth. "Just watch Olivia."

"I can do both," House promises. "I'm very talented." He takes one step back so that from where he's standing, he can talk directly to her and still oversee the surgery. "I'd hold your hand, but I don't want to contaminate, in case I have to jump in."

Cuddy blindly trusted House a million times before they were together. She regularly put her job in his unsteady hands, believed he would get the outcome he wanted, even when it seemed impossible. If she trusted him then, before the kids and the ring and the merging into one unit, she can trust him now. House said he'd get her through this, and she has no reason to doubt him. It's not a blind trust, like it used to be, when she hoped she wouldn't be brought down with him. It's a trust grounded in love that's been tested time and time again, and one that always makes her better.

"Okay," she says. "I'm ready."

"Go ahead," House tells Brianna. "I've got her."

Cuddy feels the pressure, and knows it's starting, which makes her want to panic again, but House intervenes. "Did I tell you that we think my patient has Alice in Wonderland syndrome?"

"R-really?"

"Yeah, never had a case before, so it's pretty cool. For me. Not for her. She's having migraines and crazy hallucinations."

"Is there…" Cuddy starts to ask, but when she feels more pressure, she loses her train of thought.

House refocuses her. "Is there what, Cuddy?"

"A family history?"

"Nope."

"Tumor?"

"We did an MRI. No brain tumor."

The smells and sounds of the OR inundate her senses, the whirring of machines and scent of disinfectant, but what could be more natural than talking to House about a case? She stares at the familiar lines on his face, hones in on his eyes, and focuses on the challenge he's presented to her. For a moment, she forgets she's on the operating table.

"Epilepsy?" She tries again.

"She's never had a seizure. My team also claims she hasn't taken any drugs, though I'm not sure why they believe her."

"Isn't she like nine years old?"

"Your point?"

"A nine-year-old isn't on hallucinogens."

"You don't know that."

"That's only four years older than Rachel. The likelihood…"

"Not every kid has such attentive parents who would know if their nine-year-old was on drugs."

"What about infection causing it?"

"That was my thought," House agrees. "We're testing now."

"It could be Lyme disease or mono or…."

"I was leaning towards mono before I got rudely interrupted by the birth of our daughter."

"And I'm sure you'll spend the rest of her life making sure she knows that."

"Foreman should have the results soon. We could bet. If it's mono you add fifty diaper changes to the fifty you already owe. If she has Lyme disease, we call it even."

"If she has Lyme, my debt is erased, and you do the first twenty diaper changes."

"Normally I wouldn't agree to such ridiculous terms but given the fact that I can see your insides right now, I think that's a fair deal."

"How do they look?" She asks facetiously.

"Sexiest uterus I've ever seen."

"Dr. House?" Brianna interrupts them. "We just suctioned the amniotic fluid, I assume you want to be closer for what happens next."

House hesitates for a brief second, but Cuddy wants nothing more than for him to be the first face their daughter sees. "He does," she answers, never looking away from him. "Go get our girl."

—/—

Despite his god-like faith in his own abilities, House is fully planning to let Dr. McArthur finish the delivery. He doesn't want to do anything to piss her off or risk an argument that will stress Cuddy out. It's not like he's an expert on breech babies being delivered via C-section, so he's content to stand by, supervise every move, and only act if he needs to.

But Dr. McArthur has something else in mind. "Don't you want to do the honors?"

House is shocked by the proposal. "What happened to setting boundaries for the delivery?"

"I already did the hard part and intend to close solo, but if you want to deliver her, she's right there, waiting for her dad."

Sure enough, when House looks down, he can see Olivia's skin. She's engaged in the pelvis, and the breech position is obvious, but House isn't going to turn down the once in a lifetime opportunity he's been offered. Amazingly, he doesn't feel nervous, only determined to do this, to come through for his daughter in the first seconds of her life.

He maneuvers her tiny body back and forth and then slowly, carefully lifts her out. Just like that, Olivia enters the world. She's in his arms, and Dr. McArthur is right there, suctioning fluids out of her nose and mouth.

"House?!" Cuddy calls out. "Is she okay?!"

Olivia answers for herself when she starts wailing, loud and healthy. What House feels is so instant, so big, and so indescribable. The world stops, and there's no one but Olivia and the pure devotion he feels.

After a quick inspection by nurses, he gets the go ahead to bring Olivia over to Cuddy. The only thing better than getting to deliver his daughter, is getting to be the one to hand her to her mother for the very first time. During those first few weeks of the pregnancy, when Cuddy was sick, House's leg ached from seeing her in pain. Now, connected by the child they made, he feels what she feels all over again. He feels her relief, her awe, her gratitude. He also knows what she knows — that nothing will ever be the same for them.

"Oh my god," Cuddy cries, the second Olivia is on her chest. "We did it."

But House doesn't want any of the credit. "No," he says, one hand on Olivia's back, the other on Cuddy's cheek. "You did it."

And he swears it's like all three of their hearts beat as one.

—/—

Back in the hospital room, Cuddy is in a complete love haze. She holds Olivia in her arms, and smells the top of her head, which is covered in dark brown locks. Despite the physical pain — the exhaustion and soreness — it's the best she's felt since before she got pregnant. The relief is so overwhelming and yet somehow still doesn't come close to the utter wholeness she feels.

"She has so much hair," House says, sitting right next to the bed, and holding on to two of Olivia's tiny fingers. "Thought she was going to pop out bald."

"She's so little," Cuddy adds, marveling at all six pounds of her. "Look at your hand next to her whole body."

"She looks like you."

"Really? I think she looks like you."

Cuddy is sure she sees House's cheeks and nose staring back at her.

"Are you kidding me? Those are your eyes— shape and color."

"I was rooting for your eyes," Cuddy admits. "But it's kind of funny how everyone always thinks Rachel has your eyes, and now maybe Olivia has mine."

The door to their room is closed, with the blinds fully drawn for privacy, so Cuddy holds her breath when she hears it start to creek open. Thankfully, it's only Wilson, holding a giant teddy bear and balloon. "That's amazing," Cuddy smiles when she sees him. "Rachel still has the duck you got her."

"I figured it was time to add to the collection."

House isn't interested in the presents though, and is focused instead on important introductions. "Put down the damn bear and come meet your goddaughter."

"House," Wilson laughs at the title, as he ties the pink balloon to the end of the bed. "You're an atheist. "

"And?"

"And everyone else in this room is Jewish."

"Still not seeing your point."

Cuddy understands what Wilson is getting at. "I think his point is that we don't need to assign someone to pass on the love of Jesus in the event that we both drop dead?"

"Whatever. I'm going with the secular, honorary version of the term. I know for a fact that's allowed."

Cuddy would never deprive him of any excitement related to this day. "If it makes you happy, Wilson can be the 'godfather,' even though he's already her uncle."

"Julia's annoying husband is also technically her uncle. Wilson needs a special title since we all know he will be aggressively involved in her life, whether we want him to or not."

Wilson sneers at the implication. "As if you don't want me involved in her life."

House gently takes Olivia from Cuddy's arms, and though she instantly misses the contact, it's sweet to see him hand their daughter off to their best friend, someone who will always love her unconditionally.

"You're Rachel's godfather too, by the way," House adds. "Retroactive instillation of duties."

"She's unbelievably gorgeous," Wilson says. "So clearly she takes after Cuddy."

"Ha-ha." Before House can get a more vicious rebuttal in, his phone goes off in his pocket. "Rachel's here," he says, after looking at the message. "I'm going to go get her from Thirteen."

When Cuddy is alone with Wilson, he looks at her with the pride of a brother. "I told you it was going to be okay."

"But you should've seen me. I was a complete disaster in there."

"I doubt that very much."

"It's true. I was terrified. I couldn't stop shaking."

"I think it's actually more brave when you're scared of something but manage to do it anyway."

"Look at you with that god-fatherly wisdom."

"House was two seconds away from a meltdown."

Cuddy finds it hard to believe, considering his strength and demeanor in the OR. "If he was, he didn't show it."

"Because he was focused on you. You two always do this."

"Do what? Have an unplanned pregnancy?"

"Take care of each other without the other one knowing. Except I always know. It's a cool thing to witness."

"He's been taking care of me for nine months. I don't know how much I take care of him."

"What meds are they giving you for the pain?" Wilson asks.

"Acetaminophen and ibuprofen. Why?"

"See, I knew you would say that, even though you just had major surgery and I'm sure they offered you opioids."

"It's not a big deal," she downplays, now understanding where he's going with this.

"I don't want them anyway."

"But I know you wouldn't take them, even if you were in excruciating pain, because you wouldn't want to tempt him."

"It's common sense not to have temptation sitting around the house, especially during a huge life transition."

"I'm not saying I disagree, but don't tell me you don't take care of him."

Just then, the door opens again, and Foreman pops his head into the room without fully entering. "Hey—congratulations."

But there's no way Foreman, of all people, is here to congratulate her. "Are you looking for House?"

"Yeah," he admits. "She's adorable though."

"Thank you. He should be back in a minute. Do you want to wait?"

"Can you just tell him he was right about the case and we're going to start treatment?"

Cuddy remembers the girl with Alice in Wonderland syndrome. "It was mono?"

"Nope. Lyme disease. Just like House thought it was."

Except, in the OR, House said he thought it was mono. She knows she was out of it, but she remembers his words vividly. It can only mean that he lost the bet on purpose. At first she thinks it's not a very House-like thing to do. But then she reconsiders. House, knowing she was going to be recovering from surgery, manipulated the situation to make sure she didn't owe her original debt, without her having to ask.

She looks at Olivia, cozy in Wilson's arms, and cannot even fathom the crazy things House will do for her throughout her life. The lengths he will go to keep her happy and safe— the things he'll do without any of them ever knowing. It's an endearing benefit of loving and being loved by House.

Perhaps, as usual, Wilson has a worthy point.

—/—

House walks down the hallway with Rachel, who assumes they're simply going to his office, and contemplates how to break the big news. Getting to be the one to tell Rachel is an awesome privilege, and he decides not to overthink it. With Rachel the best way to go about things is usually honesty.

"Guess what?" He says casually.

"What?"

"Your sister was born."

"No," Rachel answers with confidence. "My sister is being born in a few weeks."

Rachel has had the due date memorized for months, so he's not surprised she doesn't believe him.

"She was supposed to be born in a few weeks, but we needed to take her out today because she was upside down."

"Upside down?!" Rachel questions with concern.

"Yeah, sometimes babies get stuck in the wrong position and they have to come out early."

"Is she okay?"

"She's great."

"Do I get to see her?"

"That's where we're going right now."

"Did you name her?"

"Olivia."

Rachel stops short and looks up at him. "Really?!"

"Yeah, but you have to remember you're not Liv and Nessa. You're Rachel and Olivia, which is better."

"Thank you," she hugs his leg. "This is the best day of my whole life."

House remembers Cuddy's initial worry that Rachel might ever feel less than, and thinks maybe he can squash that possibility in advance.

"Did you know sometimes sisters get jealous of new babies? I doubt you'll feel that way, because you're smart enough to know babies need attention or they die."

"Yeah 'cause they can't feed themselves or anything."

"But it's okay if you do ever feel that way. You can talk to me about it. When your mom first got you I was jealous."

"You were?"

"Yup, because I want all her attention. Then I realized you need some of it, and now we know how to share her. You should also remember you're the oldest, so you'll always be the boss, which is a good position to be in."

"Okay I'll tell you if I get sad, but I don't think I will."

They approach Cuddy's room, and House has one last warning. "You also have to be gentle with your mom— she had to have surgery to get Olivia out safely."

"She's hurt?"

"She's sore. You know how you're careful with my leg? You have to be like that with her whole body for the next couple of weeks."

"I will be."

House opens the door and Rachel goes running into the room. She stops right at the edge of the bed and composes herself, being as careful as House asked her to be.

"Hi baby," Cuddy welcomes her. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Hi mama," Rachel stands on her tippy toes, trying to get the best view possible. "Hi Olivia."

"Do you want to hold her?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, why don't you sit with House?"

House sits on the chair, and Rachel climbs into his lap. Cuddy passes Olivia to House, who helps Rachel hold her. He has both of his daughters in his arms, another first, and another indescribable moment.

"Hi, sissy." Rachel says. "I love you."

House gets teary eyed, overcome by what he feels for all three of them. He tries to blink it away before Cuddy notices. Of course, she sees him like she always does. He waits for her to tease him at least a little, but she gets teary eyed too.

"I want you to remember this feeling on the days you think you can't do it," she says. "Because, right now, it's so clear to me that your capacity to love us is infinite."

—/—

Three days later, early in the morning, House comes into Cuddy's hospital room with good news. "You're officially cleared to go home, mom."

Cuddy sighs the biggest sigh of relief. "I can't wait to get the hell out of here."

"I know, right? What a shithole. You should complain to the Dean of Medicine or something."

House knows it isn't really about the hospital. It's that Cuddy hates being cooped up and sitting still. She wants to get home to their own bed, to settle Olivia into the nursery, to be reunited with Rachel. He can't say he blames her.

Cuddy looks up from staring at Olivia in her arms and notices what House has brought with him. "Why do you have a wheelchair?"

"Because I'm wheeling you out of this joint."

"I don't need that. I've been walking around plenty."

"You had surgery, you're going out in the wheelchair. You can think of it as our final role reversal if you want."

"Then we need to leave before eight, so I don't have to deal with a million gawking employees."

House sees that Olivia is wearing the pink I wasn't Lupus onesie from his team. "Don't tell me she's wearing that home."

"Oh, she is."

"Come on. At least put the leather jacket over it."

"It's too hot for the leather jacket. Plus, this is more motivation for you to get me out of here as fast as possible."

House starts gathering her remaining stuff, shoving it in the duffle bag without bothering to fold or organize anything. The fact that Cuddy doesn't give him grief about it is proof of how badly she wants to leave.

"You gonna miss being pregnant?" He asks her.

"Absolutely not. What's there to miss? The vomiting, reflux, fatigue, anxiety?"

"I think I'm going to miss pregnant Cuddy."

"You're going to miss me waking up a hundred times a night to pee, constantly crying, and sweating like a 200-pound man?"

"Well not those parts."

"Fear not, House. The pregnancy boobs will stick around for a while."

They are a nice benefit, but what he might really get nostalgic for is this time in their lives, how it changed them, and what it gave them.

"Lemme look at you quick before we go."

He pulls down her loose sweatpants to examine her stitches, which are healing nicely.

"I'm going to have a really ugly scar," Cuddy complains.

"Frankly I was tired of being the only person in this relationship with one."

"Yours isn't ugly."

"And you think this tiny little line is? Plus, at least we got something from yours, all I got was a limp and a drug addiction."

"No. We got something from yours, too."

"What?"

"Here," she says seriously. "We got here."

He understands what she means, cheesy as it may be. Michigan. The infarction. Mayfield. Trenton. If one single thing had been different, who knows if they'd be in this room about to bring their daughter home to her sister. House can berate himself for his past mistakes, can curse their years of bad timing and how they let fear own them for so long, but he can't really wish for things to have been any different.

"Don't get all philosophical on me when we're in the middle of perfectly good banter, Cuddy."

"I admit I'm no Jagger."

The reference is a joke, but it makes him stop and think. He's always been searching for more. More puzzles. More Vicodin. More ways to suppress the pain. But now?

Cuddy. Rachel. Olivia.

For so long he didn't have the capacity to understand, let alone express, that this family was what he wanted. But, for the first time in his life, House has everything he needs.


	4. Epilogue

— 10 weeks later — 

Cuddy stands in front of the mirror in the bathroom, half-dressed and breastfeeding Olivia while trying to brush her own hair at the same time. It's the morning of her first day back to work and she's already failing at multitasking.

"Need some help?" House, still in his pajamas, asks from behind her.

"Yes please," she says, relieved to see him up. "Which do you want to do?"

"Well obviously I'll breastfeed her."

"Sorry," Cuddy laughs as she realizes her stupid mistake and then hands him the hairbrush. "First day jitters."

"First day? At a job you've been kicking ass at for over a decade?"

House runs the brush through her tangled hair, knowing exactly what to do. Cuddy loves this kind of intimacy with him. It's one of the many benefits of being with someone who studied for her so long— he knows how she does her hair, her makeup, how she makes breakfast, how she takes her coffee. He could replicate her entire morning routine if he had to.

"First day after ten weeks off," Cuddy amends. "You know what I mean."

She's going back to a familiar job and office, but it feels different now, because everything about the last year has changed her perspective. It's made her softer in some ways, and harder in others.

"Why do Ihave to be the one to go back to work first?" She whines, dread creeping in. "Iwas the one who got cut open."

"Because I can work on cases from here. Because the hospital needs you, whereas I actively disrupt it. Because you make more money than I do, which makes you the sugar mama in this relationship. Should I keep going?"

It's the right decision. They've been over it a hundred times and ended up exactly here. That doesn't mean she has to like it. "This isn't fair."

"That's what you get for being boss."

"Is it too late to run away together?"

"We'll always have Scotland," he quips.

"Keep your kilt on standby."

House stops brushing, takes a step back to look at his handiwork. "That good?"

"Yeah," she agrees, because there's nothing more he can do with it. "But I still look like a hot mess."

"Emphasis on the hot. If Olivia wasn't on your boob right now, I would be."

She turns around to face him. "Don't lie to make me feel better."

"I'm not. Your milf status has increased exponentially since the arrival of rugrat number two."

She craves the validation, especially from him, because her old clothes don't fit yet. It's only in the last two weeks that she's felt ready to slowly restart her yoga routine.

"If you don't want to go back yet, call and tell them," House offers. "I'm sure they won't give you shit about needing another week or two."

It's tempting, but she knows it's a dangerous game, especially because she feels physically fine to work. "Another week isn't going to make it easier to leave. It might even make it harder. I don't think I'll ever feel ready."

"Probably not. You weren't exactly ready to leave Rachel."

"When I left her for the first time, I wanted to throw up. The only saving grace was getting to see the other half of my heart at work, even though I was taking it out on him."

"Ah, yes," House recalls. "The classic laxatives in the Vicodin bottle trick. Good times."

Olivia finishes nursing and Cuddy buttons up her shirt. "It just sucks that all three of you will be here while I'm at work."

"Rach has school."

"Only until 2. Then everyone will be together, except me."

For six glorious weeks the four of them were all home at the same time— Rachel on summer break and both of them on leave. Cuddy was so excited when House agreed to take time off too. She didn't think he would want more than a few days away from his puzzles, and suspects his decision might have had to do with her needing to heal from surgery. Whatever the reason, they've had time to really be together as a family, and with far less stress than they expected. Olivia is such an easy-going baby, who sleeps through the night more often than not. House always jokes that it's her way of making up for the rough pregnancy and surprise C-section.

"I want to quit."

"No you don't," House says. "That's the hormones talking. When you get to the hospital, you'll be excited to do something other than clean up baby puke and the day will go by fast."

"Are you sure you're going to be okay here on your own?"

"I've got a fridge full of pumped breast milk. I've got TV, take out menus, and my team calling every hour with patient updates. What more could I need?"

"Marina's number in case you get too invested in the case and need help."

"I've had that number memorized for years."

"Make sure Rachel sees the note I left for her."

"You taped it to her backpack. Don't see how she could miss it. Hand Olivia over, Cuddy."

Instead of following the instruction, she holds Oliva closer and pouts.

House laughs at the childish behavior. "That face isn't going to work on me when I know you better than you know you."

"Will you send me pictures?"

"Yes."

"And videos?"

"Sure."

"And you'll answer whenever I call?"

"Unless we're out for a cruise on the bike."

She shoots him a threatening look.

"I will answer whenever you call," he corrects.

Finally, after one last snuggle and kiss, Cuddy gives Olivia to House. "Goodbye, my sweet angel," she says.

"Aren't you gonna say goodbye to Olivia, too?"

She kisses him on the check. "Goodbye, wise ass."

House follows her into the living room and watches her get her stuff together. "Cuddy," he says right as he reaches for the doorknob to leave. "I shouldn't even have to say this, because it's a no-brainer, but you've got this."

And she does. She gets out of the house, into her car, and manages to pull out of the driveway without crying. But then she turns off their street.

All of the anxiety that relented when Olivia was born comes rushing back because she's apart from them for the first time. She's gotten better at recognizing her anxious thoughts and talking back to them, but right now it's like all the most important parts of her are missing. As pathetic as she feels, she calls House through the Bluetooth. He picks up on the second ring.

"House's house of daycare for Cuddy children," he says in a sing-song voice.

"Is that what you're calling it?"

"It's a working title, but I'm digging the alliteration. Did you forget something?"

"I'm just sad," Cuddy confesses. "Can you tell me what Oliva's doing?"

"I wish I had something exciting to report from the last two and half minutes, but she's drooling."

"Is it cute?"

"Oh, yeah," he says, not judging what she needs even now. "Bubbles and everything."

—/—

That afternoon there's a loud knock on the front door. House assumes his team has brought over scans for him to look at, but when he answers, he finds Wilson holding two brown grocery bags instead. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Bringing you food," Wilson says. "You're welcome."

"I specifically told you to watch Cuddy."

"I tried, but she knew why I was hovering and kicked me out."

Cuddy kicking out Wilson is probably a good sign for how she's coping. "So she's good?"

"She seemed great and everyone was excited to have her back. Where's my goddaughter?"

As they walk into the living room, House gestures toward the bassinet next to the couch. "Napping, so keep your voice down. What'd you bring me?"

"Chips, soda, stuff to make sandwiches."

House pulls out a bag of chips, starts stuffing his face as he sits back down. Wilson takes in the sight of bottles and diapers surrounding the Princeton Plainsboro laptop.

"Oddly enough, this stay-at-home dad gig suits you," he observes. "You get to stay in your pajamas, work on cases with soap operas on in the background, and still have a piece of Cuddy with you all day."

"It's only for two more weeks and then Marina takes over."

"I'm sure it means a lot to Cuddy to get to leave Olivia with you first though."

The truth is, the hospital offered them both twelve weeks parental leave. House wasn't originally planning on taking all of it, but after the c-section, he wanted to monitor Cuddy's recovery. By the time she started to feel better, he figured he might as well take advantage of the entire offer. Plus, Wilson is on to something. Why would he want to be at the hospital when he can get paid to hang out with his kid and still solve cases by working them from home? Cuddy doesn't have the luxury of not being needed by hundreds of people, but he does.

"Yeah, but now that you're here, you can watch her while I take a shower."

House gets up and starts limping down the hallway.

"Wait, no," Wilson protests. "I have to get back to the hospital."

"You can't say no! It's in the Godfather contract. Always read the fine print!"

—/—

When Wilson is gone, and House is waiting to hear from his team, he finds that he does miss Cuddy a little more than he expected to. He's spent the last ten weeks by her side— watching her care for a newborn with such natural instincts. He hates that there was a time she doubted her own abilities as a mother, and that he was ever a part of making her feel that way, because she does everything so perfectly. She's also provided him with the exact right balance of help when he's unsure what to do and space to find his own footing as a parent.

Fatherhood comes much easier to him than he would've imagined. When he first got with Cuddy, the love was simply there, and despite his fear of commitment and getting hurt, being with her was easy. He knew how to hold her, how to support her. It's the same with the girls now. He looks at them and feels so protective and somehow figures out what they need.

In a few weeks time, they'll start wedding planning, and then they'll start the adoption process to make Rachel officially his. He doesn't need a piece of paper to know that Rachel is his oldest, but he never wants anyone to question who she belongs to.

As he thinks about Cuddy, curiosity gets the best of him. He unlocks his laptop and pulls up her schedule.

He notices her four o'clock meeting and has a brilliant idea.

—/—

Cuddy's been nervous about this meeting all day. She would've preferred not to have a big potential pediatric donor on her first day back, but Joyce Harper called three times over the last ten weeks and insisted on coming in as soon as possible. Considering how much the Harper family is worth, Cuddy would be an idiot to turn her away.

They're about twenty minutes into the meeting, and Cuddy has just finished her well-rehearsed pitch, when House walks into the office unannounced, pushing Olivia in her stroller. Rachel, still in her school uniform, trails right behind him.

"House?" Cuddy's first thought is that something is wrong, because there's no reason for them to be here. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm so sorry," House says, elongating every syllable. "I didn't realize you were in a meeting. We wanted to stop by and say hi."

Cuddy is suspicious because House doesn't do anything on accident and his exaggerated tone is a dead giveaway. She just doesn't know what his game plan is.

"Joyce— this is my family," she says, hoping he's not going to embarrass her. "Dr. House also happens to be one of the best doctors in the country and the head of diagnostic medicine here at the hospital."

Despite the attempt to show off her star doctor, Joyce's gaze goes straight to Olivia. "What a beautiful baby. How old is she?"

"She's ten weeks."

"You had a baby ten weeks ago?! You look amazing."

"I appreciate that."

"My dad and I named her Olivia," Rachel announces.

"And what's your name?"

"Rachel. Are my parents gonna help you get better?"

Cuddy is positive they're up to something now, because Rachel is talking like she's reading the script of a Hallmark movie.

"I came here to talk to your mom about how I can help her help people— especially kids like you."

"My daddy helps kids get better when no one else can help them."

Joyce looks back to Cuddy. "You know, sometimes, with these donations, you worry that your money won't quite go where you'd like it to. But you— you won't waste my money because you understand the importance of family. I feel like you'd look at every kid like they're one of yours."

"She does do that," House says truthfully.

"Where do I drop off the check? I'd like to give the maximum we discussed."

Cuddy tries to temper her excitement, because it's a huge deal for the hospital. "If you're sure, our finance department is on the second floor. I can walk you there."

"No, don't. Stay here. You should enjoy your visitors."

"Thank you so much," Cuddy says. "I promise to make good use of it."

As soon as she leaves, House dramatically bows. "And the academy award for best actor in a drama goes to Greg House."

"What about me?" Rachel asks. "I helped!"

"You did. That's why you're the best supporting actress."

"You hacked into my schedule," Cuddy surmises.

"Forget chick magnets, these girls are check magnets."

"Or maybe you missed me and invented a reason to come visit, helpful as it was."

"No way."

"You simply couldn't take another hour without me."

"You wish."

She's relieved to be back in the swing of things, and House in her office makes it feel completely normal. It's inevitable that some days work might not get her best because of the kids and some days work will drain her before she gets home. She thinks she can figure it out though.

"I can do this," she says out loud.

"Duh," House sits down across from her, takes two lollipops out of his pocket, and starts eating one of them. "I already told you that."

"We can do this."

Because without him, none of it would work. Home wouldn't work and work wouldn't work. She needs him for all of it.

He starts looking on her desk and notices one specific item. "Is that a bridal magazine?"

"Brianna left it in my mailbox. She's very invested in us, especially now that she knows you're a big softy."

"Blasphemy." House flips through a few pages until he finds a dress he likes. "Patty and Selma would rock this one."

Of course he's picked a low-cut one with a sheer bodice. "That's practically see through."

"Exactly."

"I just had a baby."

"You heard the rich lady, Cuddy. You could pull it off."

She glances at the time on her laptop. "You know, it's already four thirty. I think I could probably leave since I got here so early."

"Anddddd my devious plan is complete."

"So you admit you had a plan!"

"That's not what I said."

"He did," Rachel says, grabbing the second lollipop for herself.

"Traitor," House scowls.

Cuddy's heart is so full. "I missed you, too."

—/—

Cuddy stops at the front desk on their way out, just to make sure she hasn't missed any mail or messages. As she's going through some memos, Chase and Taub come running over to House.

"Damn," he mutters when he sees them. "I was hoping you wouldn't find out I was here."

"And we were hoping you'd stay," Taub says.

"I told you to check for tumors. Call me when you have the results."

"But…"

"Don't be so dramatic. Daddy will be back in two short weeks."

Thirteen comes over then, waving the results of the MRI. "It's not a tumor."

Chase looks at House expectantly. "Now what?"

"Now... I have to think. I'll call you when I come up with something. Until then, I want an EKG."

Out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy sees one of Olivia's shoes fall off. Before she can do anything about it, Rachel reaches down to get it for her. Cuddy is thinking about how proud she is of Rachel for wanting to make sure Olivia doesn't lose her shoe. Then, instead of putting it back on her foot, Rachel slips the shoe on Olivia's hand and starts laughing.

It's such a small, weird moment to hit her as hard as it does, but it reminds her that Rachel is the perfect combination of her parents. Caring enough to watch out for her sister, goofy and creative enough to laugh at a stupid joke.

There will always be more patients for House to cure. There will always be more meetings for Cuddy to attend. He'll solve his cases and she'll keep the hospital running. And in between the curing and the meetings, they will teach these girls to take care of the people they love without losing their sense of joy. Rachel and Olivia will know that even the most painful days are worth pushing through, and that the four of them can do anything together. They will feel loved enough to be themselves, and safe enough to chase whatever makes them happy.

"House," Foreman catches up with the team, frustrated as the rest of them. "Where are you going?"

Cuddy remembers a day, once upon a time, when she mocked House for being so eager to leave work even though he had no one waiting on him. Now she marvels at the family they found all on their own.

She looks back at his team, armed with their unanswered questions. Thankfully the answer to Foreman's question is simple and forever.

Cuddy grabs House's hand. "Home," she says. "He's going home."


End file.
